


Endings and Beginnings

by RubyLipsStarryEyes



Series: Prophesies and Revelations [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 108,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyLipsStarryEyes/pseuds/RubyLipsStarryEyes
Summary: Eight years after the war ends, Hermione finds herself trapped with none other than Lucius Malfoy. He seems to have really changed, but what secrets is he still hiding?This is part 3 of 3 part story that spans the decade after the Battle at Hogwarts; each story follows a different set of characters and will be posted over the course of quite some time.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Series: Prophesies and Revelations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578997
Comments: 265
Kudos: 201





	1. Prisoners

December 4, 2006

Hermione shifted on her feet impatiently, waiting for the lift. It was late, and the Ministry halls were empty and disconcertingly quiet. She’d lost track of time while reviewing a new draft of a motion she was introducing to the minister and the Wizengamot next month, and now she just wanted to get home to a hot bath to relax her shoulders from being hunched over her desk for several hours. 

The lift doors flashed, opening smoothly. She was surprised to see that it wasn’t empty, but she hesitated when she recognized the lone occupant. 

“Mr Malfoy.”

Lucius Malfoy raised his cool grey eyes from the marble floor of the lift. His hands were folded neatly over the head of his ever-present walking stick, the ebony wood gleaming in the dim light. 

“Ms Granger.” His tone was polite and reserved, with none of the haughty arrogance she remembered from years past. His gaze felt like silver blades against her skin, as if one wrong move would eviscerate her. He dropped his eyes back to the floor, and Hermione shook herself, taking a place next to him, facing the doors. 

He wasn’t going to bite. Since the final battle and her subsequent testimony on behalf of his family, as far as she knew, he’d been a model citizen; he’d even gone as far to draft and help to pass several key Muggle-born protection acts. Since she’d started at the ministry a year after the battle, she’d seen him around, and he’d always been polite. When his wife had died three years ago, Hermione had seen a change; a shift that she couldn’t put into words. She thought he’d... softened was the wrong word. He was still Lucius Malfoy. But some of the razor sharp edges had been dulled. 

“Ms Granger?” His satin-smooth baritone interrupted her thoughts. 

“I’m sorry?” She was relieved it came out in a semi-normal tone of voice, not a squeak of a mouse trapped with a snake. 

“I asked if you were also going to the Atrium.” He waved a hand at the buttons on the wall, his voice surprisingly gentle. Gentle was not the word one immediately thought of in conjunction with the name Lucius Malfoy. 

“Oh. Yes, please. Thank you.” Hermione’s throat got tighter. He may not bite, but this was the first time she’d ever been _alone_ with the man who’s parlor floor she’d cried and bled on while his sister-in-law tortured her. Eight years did little to soften that particular memory. 

He was quiet, and she tried not to shift her weight nervously as the floors passed. Her stomach knotted, however, when the lights flickered and the lift stopped moving. Since the remodel and subsequent installation of modernized lifts, this had been a problem; one that had supposedly been fixed a month prior. 

Light flared to her left, Lucius’ wand held aloft with its tip lit. His face clearly showed his displeasure, and Hermione again tried not to shy away from the man. In this light, his face was all sharp angles, and magic or no, it highlighted just how much larger he was than she. His tailored robes clearly showed the broad shoulders and muscular chest, tapering down to a narrow waist. His charcoal grey robes hid his legs, but Hermione had little doubt that they were just as muscled as the rest of him. His son’s slight seeker’s build obviously came from his mother. 

“I thought they fixed this.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement that betrayed his annoyance. 

“They said it was fixed, evidently they were wrong. Do you know if there’s anyone here? I didn’t see anyone on my floor.” She flinched internally. She’d just admitted to a former Death Eater that nobody knew where she was. The temperature was quickly dropping, she suspected because of the air ducts open to the frigid December night. 

“I was reviewing a contract alone. There wasn’t anyone that I saw.” His voice took on a frustrated edge. 

She quickly worked down a list of who might still be there. Harry and Ron were both on assignment out of the office, her assistant had left hours ago, as had... Well, everyone. Shit. At this rate they’d be prisoners until morning. She chewed on her lip, evaluating her options before settling on what she hoped would be the best option. 

“Expecto Patronum!” A silvery otter slid from the end of her wand, darting through the walls and toward the Burrow. Please let Arthur be there, preferably without Molly. The Weasley patriarch was the closest thing she had to a father now, even despite her and Ron’s brief fling being just that; a short lived teenage affair. When her parents had refused to return to the country after she’d restored their memories, they’d quickly become estranged, leaving Arthur and Molly to act as surrogate parents. Arthur would be level headed at hearing she was trapped in the lift with Lucius Malfoy. Molly would not. 

Lucius turned slightly, arching a pale eyebrow. 

She internally cursed as the cold finally got to her, a shiver wracking her body as he turned his piercing gaze to her. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d brought her heavy travelling cloak. She hadn’t seen the need that morning, as she floo’d back and forth, but that was the end of that argument for all time and eternity. 

Inexplicably, he seemed to understand and cast a non-verbal warming spell. Hermione blinked at the unexpected warmth. 

“At least tell me you chose someone competent to rescue us,” he said dryly, before she could thank him for the small kindness. He turned more fully towards her, the light from his wand tip floating up towards the ceiling as he tucked his wand away. 

“Arthur Weasley.” 

He surprised her yet again by nodding. “If anyone could get this contraption to move, it would be him.” He relaxed his impeccable aristocratic posture by a fraction, leaning back against the wall. 

She nodded mutely, though his experience with Muggle technology was the last thing on her mind when she’d sent the patronus. 

“Ms Granger, I assure you I want exactly what you do right now.”

Her mouth went dry. What did he mean by that? 

“Home and dinner. I have no intention of allowing you to walk out of here with so much as a scratch. Please allow yourself to relax. It will make the wait significantly more pleasant.”

Hermione blinked again. That was not what she’d expected to come out of his mouth. Apparently tonight was all about him catching her off guard. 

“Draco always implied that you were very chatty. So far I’m getting the impression that my son misinformed me or the metaphorical cat has your tongue.” He smirked, a shadow of his old arrogance showing. 

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re wanting me to say, Mr Malfoy. I was under the impression we had very little in common.” 

“Well you’re the director of the Magical Education Department, are you not? Surely you remember I sit on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and therefore am quite interested in what your work entails.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, making his silver-blond hair shine. 

She blinked again. He wanted to talk about her work? 

“I...” She floundered, his smirk reappearing. 

“Of course if you prefer, we can talk about La Bohème. I quite enjoyed Saturday’s performance, didn’t you?” 

Blink. Blink. Blink. “How did you...”

“I saw you, young Mr Longbottom and Ms Parkinson in attendance from my box seats. I was treating Draco and his new betrothed.”

Right. Draco and Astoria Greengrass had announced their engagement Friday. She had nodded her hello to Draco outside the theatre while he was speaking to Neville, but she hadn’t seen his father. 

He continued. “Of course I prefer the wizarding productions, but they’ve been exceedingly rare since the war, but the Muggles haven’t let me down.”

She blinked, desperately trying to reconcile what she was hearing with what she thought she knew of the man. “It was quite lovely. The last time I saw it was in Paris with my parents. I’d forgotten how passionate it was.” 

He inclined his head. “Have you seen any others?”

“Madama Butterfly, Tosca... My mother was particularly fond of Puccini’s works.” 

“I’m fond of Mozart, myself.” He allowed a small smile. “But there is something to Puccini’s passion.” 

Despite herself, she found herself relaxing, and soon they were debating which of Shakespeare’s plays were the best. She found herself actually giggling at some of Lucius’ jabs at the Bard. He even let her glimpse a few of his rare smiles, and before she knew it, they were both sitting on the floor across from each other, the warm atmosphere far from the frigidity it had been when she stepped into the lift. 

She paused, amazed at the ludicrous scene before her. At this point they’d been there over an hour, and she had Lucius Malfoy sitting on the floor cracking jokes. It sobered her, and made her wonder if this is how Draco knew his father. She suspected not, which intrigued her further. 

He caught her pensive look, and cocked his head. 

“May I ask you a question?” She waited with bated breath, almost pleading with him to say no. 

“Of course, Ms Granger.” It was a cautious yes, but her curiosity was bubbling over. 

“Why did you come back to the Ministry after the war? Why didn’t you keep your seat in the House of Lords and leave it at that? Coming here every day must’ve been hell, especially considering your point of focus.”

He surveyed her carefully, his silver eyes unnerving as he formed a calculated response. That was the Lucius Malfoy she knew and expected; but with the next breath he left her head spinning all over again. 

“I deserved much worse, but you and Mr Potter made it incredibly difficult to seek atonement elsewhere.” He paused before taking a deep breath and continuing. 

“The year I spent in Azkaban was one of the worst of my life, but I came out of it with a truly changed view of the world. With the Dark Lord in residence at my home, there was little I could do with my newfound enlightenment. When Mr Potter vanquished him, with the help of my wife and son, I was changed further. I was prepared to spend the rest of my days in the hell that is that prison, but when I was pardoned, I made a vow to myself that I would dedicate my time to two causes. The first was my family; their actions made it clear that they deserved far better than I. The second was ensuring that I would use what little political pull I had left, coupled with my experience, to make changes for the better. My… point of focus, as you put it, was a direct response to your influence.”

Hermione’s jaw almost landed in her lap. Her mind flashed back to the trials where she had not only testified on their behalf, but listened to Harry’s testimony of Narcissa lying to Voldemort and Draco giving up his wand for Harry to duel with. That she could handle. But to pass controversial laws because of… her? 

Lucius watched her carefully, but Hermione just nodded. 

“I would like to say, Ms Granger, that I am deeply sorry for my part in what happened to you. For allowing Bellatrix to—“

She held up her hand, stopping him. The scars on the inside of her arm felt raw, even against the soft cotton of her sleeve, and her stomach turned. 

“Please don’t,” she whispered. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

It was his turn to blink rapidly at her, his mind trying to process what she’d said. Before he could formulate a response, the lights in the lift flickered back to life and it began to move. 

She scrambled to her feet, with him a split second behind her. He was surprisingly agile, she noted. He looked picture perfect by the time the lift stopped, his robes back in place without so much as a wrinkle. She feared her own robes hadn’t fared as well. 

The doors slid open to Arthur Weasley’s worried face, three maintenance wizards behind him. 

“Hermione. All right?” He reached out with both arms, and she allowed him to guide her out into the massive atrium. 

“I’m fine, Arthur. Thank you for coming to get us.” 

Once he was sure she was fine, he turned to the taller man. “Lucius.”

“Arthur.” 

Their cool greetings reminded her exactly what she’d been thinking before their timely rescue, and her cheeks went pink. She address his general direction, not willing to make eye contact, lest his silver eyes turned her into a puddle. 

“Thank you, Mr Malfoy.” She hoped he understood that her gratitude was far reaching. 

“Goodnight, Ms Granger.” 

Arthur swept her away in a swish of robes, but her mind was still back in the lift. Lucius Malfoy had been charming, funny, and sincere; she’d actually enjoyed their conversation. How bizarre.


	2. Correspondence

Arthur insisted on her coming to the Burrow, and she didn’t object. Molly was waiting, her wringing her hands raw, with Ginny across the table rolling her eyes over the teapot. 

“I told you,” she shot at her mother. 

“Oh we were so worried! When we got your patronus! Stuck there with Lucius Malfoy…” Molly looked a little green. 

“Molly it was fine. He was a perfect gentleman. He’s actually quite funny.” Hermione sat down next to Ginny, ignoring the incredulous looks coming from all three of the Weasleys, busying herself with pouring a cup of tea. She wasn’t prepared to admit what he’d told her. 

“Funny? What did he do to you?” Ginny narrowed her eyes, as if at any moment Hermione would change into someone else. 

“We were there for quite some time. We were talking about Shakespeare and the opera.” Hermione’s cheeks heated at how absurd it sounded now. “I’m just saying it could have been worse.” Ginny shrugged, but Molly still looked suspicious. Arthur simply looked as if he needed a large glass of firewhiskey and not to think about it. 

She stayed a while, chatting aimlessly with Molly and Ginny as they decorated the Burrow for Christmas, but soon she was making her excuses, ready to go home for the night, to take that bath and sort through some of the thoughts and feelings she’d had over the last two hours. 

The next morning she arrived later than usual to the Ministry, still yawning. She was aware of a presence near her elbow, but was too busy yawning to see who it was until the silk of his voice trailed across the skin of her ear. 

“Good morning, Ms Granger.” She froze mid-yawn, her breath catching and her mind going blank. Turning slowly, she came nose to chest with none other than Lucius Malfoy. 

She jumped and bit down a curse, not expecting for him to be close enough for her to smell the cologne clinging to his midnight-blue robes. His very nice, very expensive smelling cologne. 

“Mr Malfoy!” She felt her cheeks flood with heat. “Good morning sir.”

His lips twitched. “Are you quite well this morning, Ms Granger?” 

“Quite,” she gasped, the heat from her cheeks spreading down her neck and across her chest.

She was mercifully saved when the lift arrived, and they stepped into the moderately full space. She got off first, on the fourth floor, cheeks still burning as she felt his eyes digging like knife points into her shoulders. 

She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached her own office, shutting the door firmly behind her. What had her so damn jumpy all of the sudden? Nothing had changed; she saw the man nearly every day. She shook herself from her discomfort, ready to jump into her work and push all thoughts of the perplexing man aside. 

She did just that, at least until her assistant Janet came in, warning her she’d be late for her meeting with the Muggle-born Registry Committee. 

Hermione swore, tearing out of her office and up two floors. She was cursing the decision to wear a pencil skirt and heels under her robes that day, not to mention leaving her hair down. She came skidding to a stop outside the conference room just as the door across the hall opened, with delegates from the Departments for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Magical Law Enforcement, and Magical Commerce and Import spilling into the hall. She nodded to Anthony Fairview of Commerce and Import, and a couple of the Aurors, Brian deMarco and Kat Lyons. She was straightening her robes and attempting to calm her curls while balancing several heavy files when the shining silver blond hair caught her eye. Well shit. Shit shit shit. 

“Ms Granger. Hello again.” 

“Mr Malfoy.” She was still out of breath from her sprint from her office, but she’d be damned if she showed it. “If you’ll excuse me,” she indicated the door behind her.

“Allow me.” He stepped forward, reaching past her for the handle and giving her another whiff of the ambrosia he called cologne; the man smelled like he bathed in amortentia. Her still-burning lungs nearly screamed at the combination.

He held the door open for her, nodding respectfully as she passed through. She took her place at the table, only to look up and see him settling into a seat across the table. The sigh of relief she’d been preparing for when he was gone was strangled from her lungs, coming out in a soft “whoosh” of air. He looked up, smirking at her confusion. 

She wasn’t sure why all of the sudden his silver eyes were fire on her skin instead of blades, but the sensation was just as unnerving. She was glad she had thoroughly prepared for this meeting, though she didn’t know how she’d concentrate. At the very least, she wasn’t presenting. 

Rosemary Elmer stood at the head of the table, sending a stack of minutes around. Mr Malfoy took one, and passed the stack, already writing something on his. It took her a moment, but she realized her name was on the top of the sheet she’d taken. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but her question was quickly answered when a second line appeared. 

**_Do you prefer paintings or sculpture?_ **

She looked up, but Mr Malfoy’s eyes were trained on Rosemary, who was thanking him for taking the time out of his busy schedule and taking an interest in their new proposal. She sounded as off balance as Hermione felt with the man across the table. 

He nodded graciously, the quill resting casually in his strong, elegant hands. She blinked again, looking down at the page. The question had vanished. Another question appeared, replacing it. 

**_Drawings or charcoal, perhaps?_ **

She blinked at it again, her cheeks on fire. Finally she picked up her quill. 

_Paintings. Monet is a particular favorite._

Mr Malfoy’s silver eyes flicked to his own page, and he almost immediately began to write. The words showed up as he rested his hand beside the parchment again. 

**_I’ve always liked Matisse, personally. Excellent use of color and contrast._ **

She couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. 

_Degas inspired me to begin ballet._

**_You didn’t strike me as a dancer._ **

_I was terrible. It lasted all of a year. As it turns out, books can’t do much to improve coordination._ She watched his lips quirk up at her admission, before his politely neutral expression returned nearly immediately. 

**_Any others besides impressionism?_ **

_I have a soft spot for modernism. Edward Hopper’s_ Nighthawks _always made me daydream._

**_The Renaissance has always held a different kind of magic for me._ **

“Hermione?” Rosemary pulled her from thoughts of St Peter’s Basilica. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Did you have anything to add?” Rosemary sounded unsure of herself.

Hermione blushed. She hadn’t heard a word that had been said. “No, I think you covered it Rosemary. Thank you.” 

Evidently it was the right thing to say, because she visibly relaxed and went on to the next agenda item. 

**_Is the Brightest Witch of Her Age incapable of multitasking? I was sure you would have had something to say about the statistics regarding Muggleborns with magical siblings_. **

Hermione’s fading blush came back with a vengeance. She had actually had something to say, but it was too late now. 

_Someone is distracting me with art. And don’t call me that._

**_My apologies, Ms Granger._ **

_None is necessary, I assure you, Mr Malfoy._

**_I bared my soul to you, I think Lucius is appropriate, Ms Granger_. **

_Then the reverse must be true. It’s Hermione._

He wasn’t going to allow her to calm enough to stop blushing, but it felt as if she could boil a cauldron on her face. 

“Thank you so much for having me, Ms Elmer. Today’s meeting was… most enlightening.” Mr Malfoy-- Lucius’ smooth voice held the tiniest hint of amusement. She couldn’t decide if she’d imagined it or not. 

“Thank you for being here Lord Malfoy. We look forward to seeing you at next week’s meeting!” Rosemary’s voice rose half an octave as Lucius stood, towering over the table. Reformed Death Eater or not, he was an imposing man. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with International Magical Cooperation I need to prepare for.” He nodded respectfully at Rosemary, and pinned Hermione to her chair with his eyes. 

“Hermione would you care to accompany me downstairs? I had a question regarding the motion we were discussing.” 

Hermione swallowed hard. She’d never heard her name said quite like _that_. “Certainly, Lucius.” She gathered her files, and stood as gracefully as she could. He held the door open for her, and she surreptitiously inhaled, his scent filling her lungs and making her dizzy. She got a glimpse of the shocked faces of her colleagues, and her face burned hotter than ever.

“I sincerely hope you don’t play poker.” His velvety voice was low in her ear, sending a shiver up her spine. 

“Was there a point to that little distraction exercise?” It came out more as a hiss, and she was struggling to keep up with his long legged strides. Between her shorter legs, restrictive skirt, and heels, she was averaging three steps to each one of his. He stopped suddenly, throwing Hermione off balance. 

His arm shot out to steady her, keeping her from toppling over. His hand lingered on her elbow longer than she felt was strictly necessary, and she felt as if the heat of his hand could light her sleeve on fire. 

“I simply saw the opportunity to speak with you further, and took the opportunity. Though if I’d known how… _reactive_ … you would be to such innocent questions I may have started correspondence much sooner.” 

Her face burned, and his lips twitched up into a small smile. “Precisely.”

It was one of the rare times she didn’t have anything to say, so she turned on one heel and stalked off towards her office. He didn’t follow, and she thanked Merlin for small mercies. 

She took lunch in her office, not willing to venture out and get caught in another lift or hallway with Lucius. The rest of the day was quiet, and she left late again. When she got home to her flat, she took a bath and tried to read, but her mind kept straying to Lucius Malfoy and his impossibly attractive hands and his irresistible cologne. 

After an hour of rereading the same page, she gave up and went to bed, her thoughts still on the paradoxical man. 

The next morning, she was settling in for the day when Janet came back in with a stack of paperwork, a heavy cream-colored envelope on top. 

The bold, masculine hand that boldly proclaimed her name was now familiar, the emerald green seal embossed with a highly stylized “M” confirming who had written it. 

With a sigh, she broke the seal and withdrew the matching stationery. 

_  
**Dear Ms Granger,** _

**_I wanted to thank you for the rather stimulating conversation. It has been some time since I was last able to debate the arts, and would very much like to do it again._ **

**_Would you allow me the honor of escorting you to dinner tomorrow night? I know of a lovely Italian restaurant I think you would enjoy._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_L.A.M._ **

Stimulating conversation was one way to put it. She read through it twice more, both leaving her just as confused as the first time over. No mention of how their conversations ended, or the sweltering looks he’d given her the previous day. Or had he already written it and was wondering if she was going to accept. 

“Janet!” She shouted through the door, eyes still glued to the initials at the bottom of the page. 

“Yes ma’am?” Janet was older than Hermione, and Hermione usually protested the honorific, but was too focused to care. 

“When did this come?” She waved the heavy envelope, the letter still clutched in her hand, eyes skimming it again. 

“It was on the desk when I got here this morning, and I came in early to finish the secondary draft of the motion for Muggle-born integration.”

Hermione nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” Janet left her alone, and Hermione chewed on her lip slowly. She finally set it down, pulling a sheet of her own stationery towards her, choosing a deep blue ink that reminded her of his robes from yesterday. 

_Dear Lucius,_

_It is I that should be thanking you. I enjoyed our conversations as well, and would be honored to attend dinner with you._

_I may be working somewhat later due to the proposal I am currently initiating, would it be terribly inconvenient or improper to ask that we leave from the Ministry, say around 7?_

_Yours,_

_Hermione J. Granger_

She read through it a dozen more times before throwing all caution to the wind and sliding it into an envelope, addressing it and calling Janet back in. 

“Can you make sure this goes out immediately? And if there is a reply, just send it right in.” 

Janet’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lucius Malfoy?” 

Hermione had already started in on the proposal, and nodded absently. “He’s on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and we were discussing the proposal.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but she wasn’t about to tell Janet, a muggleborn herself, that she was going on a date with the ex Death Eater. 

Hermione froze. Was that what this was? A date? Surely not. It was just two like-minded people going to dinner. That gave her even more pause. When in the world did she start to consider herself and Lucius Malfoy, pure-blood champion himself, to be like-minded? 

The day passed excruciatingly slowly, and she was restless. It was all she could do not to start trolling the hallways to chance a meeting with him. His note sat propped against a picture taken at Harry and Ginny’s wedding, she and Ron standing as maid of honor and best man to the happy couple, and she found herself glancing up every few minutes to see her name in his hand. 

She glanced at the clock, and nearly whooped. It was after six, and she had plans to meet Harry for drinks. She folded Lucius’ letter, shoving it in her robes’ pocket and nearly sprinted out the door. One floor down was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she was almost disappointed to reach Harry’s office without any difficulties; that is to say, she didn’t run into Lucius Malfoy. The closest she got was a blonde witch named Natalie Richards from the Department of International Cooperation leaving Harry’s office. 

He was finishing a report, so she sat down across from his desk and waited patiently, her eyes scanning the room carefully. When he threw his quill down and tapped the stack with his wand to be filed, she leaned in close. 

“Harry I’m doing something crazy and I need you to tell me no.” 

Two green eyes blinked back in confusion. “When have you ever listened to me tell you no?” 

She took a deep breath and slid the envelope from her pocket, flicking it across his desk. He picked it up, brows furrowed. 

“Wait! Not here. Let’s go to the pub first. He keeps popping up at the most inconvenient times.”

“Who?” He flipped it over, the seal catching his eye. “Why are you getting letters from Malfoy? Didn’t he just get engaged?”

“Wrong one.” 

“Wrong one? What are you on about?” Hermione just stared at him, until the realization hit him. “Fucking hell ‘Mione he’s…” 

“Pub. Alcohol. Silencing charm. Then talk.” She stood, snatching the envelope back. 

“Right. Let’s go.” Harry pulled his royal blue auror’s robes free from the hook beside his desk, shrugging them on as they walked towards the lift. The doors opened, and Hermione automatically searched the crowded lift for silver. Seeing none, she stepped in with Harry right behind her. Oddly enough, she felt a brief pang of disappointment, if she wasn’t mistaken. 

Her disappointment was short lived, because Hermione, Harry, and an elderly mediwitch from St Mungo’s were joined by Lucius Malfoy one floor up. His silver eyes took in the occupants before stepping in, and Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

Harry has a much better poker face than she did, giving the man a cool, controlled nod. “Lord Malfoy.”

Hermione’s tongue felt like she’d ingested one of Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ ten-ton tongue toffees, and she just nodded. 

“Mr Potter.” His tone softened and warmed slightly. “Hermione.” 

She swallowed hard. “Good evening, Lucius.” Harry’s cool façade cracked at their use of given names, and his wand hand twitched near where his wand was concealed. If Lucius noticed, he didn’t react. Hermione glared at Harry, and he gave the tiniest of shrugs.

“Good evening, Agnes.” Lucius turned his attention to the mediwitch, and Hermione tried not to listen. 

The doors opened and Harry pulled Hermione out of the lift, aparating them to the Leaky Cauldron before she could look back


	3. Doubts

December 6, 2006

“Hermione!” Harry turned on her, shock radiating off of him in waves. 

“Alcohol. Silencing spell. THEN talk.” Hermione was already turning to the bar, asking Tom for two double whiskeys. Harry ran his hand through his already messy hair, before laying claim to a corner booth. He sat with his back to the wall, arms crossed. 

When she sat down with the drinks, Harry was already throwing up silencing spells. She hadn’t even got the glass to her lips when Harry let loose. 

“HE’S A BLOODY DEATH EATER! VOLDEMORT LIVED IN HIS HOUSE. YOU WERE TORTURED ON HIS FUCKING FLOOR AND HE JUST WATCHED!”

Hermione took a series of deep breaths while Harry yelled himself hoarse, listing every last crime ever committed by the man before finally falling silent, his firewhiskey untouched. 

“Are you finished?” Hermione asked as calmly as possible, watched Harry bury his face in his hands, breathing hard, and then taking a deep drink from his glass. 

“I just… How?” The desperation in his eyes for answers shook her. 

“First of all,” she withdrew the letter from her pocket. “Maybe you should read the damn thing. It’s not a love letter, he wants to _talk_.” She passed him the letter, and waited while he read it. 

Harry’s face crumpled in disgust. “Dinner. He wants to take you to dinner?” He flicked the letter back at her, and she tucked it back into her pocket. 

“We got stuck in the lift the night before last. We were there for over an hour before Arthur got us out.”

“An hour was all it took for you to forget everything he’s done?” Harry looked sick, like Hermione was trying to force-feed him dung beetles stewed in Bubotuber pus. 

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” she hissed, yanking up the sleeve of her sweater. The letters carved into her skin stood out red and inflamed, her abused skin every bit as raw as it was the day Bellatrix took the cursed blade to her arm. 

“I haven’t forgotten the look in his eye when she was doing it, either. Or when he told us to save his wife and son, but leave him to rot in Azkaban. Or the changes I’ve seen in him over the past eight years. Or how he looked worse after his wife died than when he was fresh out from the dementors. Or how he’s been a driving force for Muggle-born protection laws. Or how in the lift I saw the first real smile from him, ever. Or that he tried to apologise to me for Bellatrix’s actions. Or how he sat in a meeting yesterday protecting the rights of Muggle-born students at Hogwarts while passing me notes about how he loves art.”

When she finished, tears were dripping down her face, and Harry’s mouth was gaping. She sniffed, pulling her sleeve down and using it to wipe the tears from under her eyes. 

“Merlin’s beard, ‘Mione. You’ve thought a lot about this.” He thankfully didn’t ask why she was so emotional about it. She didn’t know how he’d react to knowing she’d inspired his work over the last decade. 

“I haven’t been able to think about anything else for the last 48 hours. Have you actually had a conversation with him in the last eight years?”

Harry sat back, running his hand through his hair again. “No I haven’t,” he admitted. “I mean he was there at the Macnair boy’s trial last year, but I didn’t talk to him.”

“Maybe you should before condemning him, again. Look. I asked him to pick me up at my office tomorrow at seven. Maybe you can stop by to get that book for Ginny, bump into him. Give him a chance. And for hell’s sake remember it’s just dinner. Think of it as a working dinner if it make you feel better.”

“You know Ron’s going to lose his mind when he finds out, right?” Harry looked defeated. “Gin too. She wanted you to date but I don’t think this is what she meant.” 

“Well I think they’re just going to have to wait until we see how this dinner goes. Who knows. Maybe he’ll be a jerk and you’ll get you wish to see me hex him into next week.” 

Harry chuckled. Progress. 

“If you do, I want to see that memory.” He sobered. “Please be careful. Come over to ours when you’re done?”

“Yeah okay. I’ll do that.” Hermione reached out for his hands. “Thanks Harry.”

“Even though I failed, yet again, to tell you no?” Harry smiled. 

“I just needed you to make me defend myself against my own doubts.” Hermione took another drink of her firewhiskey. Her stomach was in knots, but she chalked it up to nerves. Being alone in an elevator was one thing. Going out to dinner was another beast entirely. 

The rest of the evening was much more pleasant, and when she said goodnight to Harry, her doubts had calmed somewhat. 


	4. Reservations

December 7, 2006

The next morning she was late again, after spending far too long wrangling her hair into soft waves and working through an alarmingly large pile of outfits before settling on a deep plum sheath dress, with black heels and robes. The effect was rather nice she thought, appropriate for work, but her dress was form fitting enough that she could shed the robes for dinner if she saw fit. 

Another heavy cream envelope was waiting on her desk, the sight of the bold hand sending butterflies through her stomach. 

_Hermione,_

_I look forward to enjoying your company tonight._

_I admire your work ethic, and will see you at seven. If it’s agreeable to you, I will collect you from your office and we can go straight to dinner._

_Please indulge me and share what your proposal entails, I am most intrigued._

_Until then,_

_Lucius_

Hermione preened at the subtle compliments for a moment, before resolving to put the letter away and focus. She had a lot to do, and she wasn’t sure she’d be done by six thirty. 

She had been on track to finish on time before Harry wandered in at six. Janet had left around five, and he didn’t bother knocking. His hair was messier than normal, and he was twitching with nervous energy. 

“Hermione are you sure this is a good idea?” He’d already paced across her office half a dozen times, and she feared he would wear the carpet thin if he continued. 

“Just. Dinner.” She didn’t take her eyes from the documents spread before her, and she hoped Harry didn’t hear the uncertainty bleeding into her voice. She made another notation and let him continue pacing in silence. The clock ticked the minutes by painfully slowly, and at a quarter to seven, Harry stood and flexed his fingers, mouth set in a grim line. 

He wandered out, and Hermione took the opportunity to retrieve her compact and check her hair, adding a coat of lipstick before she heard voices. Harry had closed her office door, but she could hear everything. Harry must’ve used a charm to allow her to hear. Interesting. 

“Mr Potter.”

“Lord Malfoy.”

“Is Ms Granger in?”

“Yeah she was just finishing up a firecall. She should be out in a moment.”

There was silence, and Hermione gripped the edge of her desk. Was that it? That wasn’t a conversation. 

“I saw that Draco announced his engagement. Please convey my congratulations.” Harry’s words were carefully chosen, that was evident. 

“I will, thank you. Did I hear correctly that Mr Weasley was retiring from the DMLE?” Lucius was equally cautious, his tone polite. Hermione could just picture the two in an uncomfortably polite stand off. 

“Yeah, he’s had enough of the politics, he’s leaving at the end of the month to help his brother manage their business.”

“Ah, yes. The joke shop.” Harry must’ve nodded, because Lucius went on after a short pause. “Please give him my best. And allow me to congratulate you for your promotion. The DMLE is fortunate to have you at the helm.”

Hermione almost snorted picturing Harry telling Ron that Lucius Malfoy of all people had inquired after him. Harry and Hermione may have forgiven Lucius, but Ron had a harder time letting go; he always had. The worst part was that he knew it, and still made no effort to change.

“What are you playing at, Malfoy?” Harry’s patience for niceties had snapped. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“What do you want with her?” She could just picture Harry’s flashing green eyes, the disgust in his voice was evident. “Do you want to get the inside scoop to stop her proposals for the curriculum changes? Or do you just want to be seen with her, the country’s most famous Muggle-born, to boost your playing power?”

Hermione was frozen in place, part of her wanted to rush out and interrupt, but the stronger part of her wanted to know how he’d answer. 

Lucius’ answer came slowly, as if he was measuring each word carefully. 

“Despite popular belief, I’m actually in support of her proposed curriculum changes. I will admit I am not educated on the finer nuances, but on a whole I believe they will be quite beneficial. And I had no intention of anyone seeing us at dinner that wasn’t expressly welcome. Her blood status is none of my concern, and if it was, don't you think I would have approached her sooner, given my very public political agenda? I simply found I enjoyed conversing with her, and wished to continue our discussion of the arts. She’s quite charming, and I suspect excellent dinner company. That is all.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She hardly expected him to admit that he wanted to use her politically to Harry, but he sounded sincere. 

Evidently Harry came to the same conclusion, because he sounded borderline apologetic when he said, “She is. Good company, that is.” 

“I understand that you are protective of her. Please be assured that she is under no threat from me.” Lucius’ voice was softer now. “I wish to apologise for my actions that have given you reason to hate me.”

“You don’t have to. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if we hadn’t forgiven you.” Harry sounded tired now. 

“Ms Granger said something to that effect as well. You’ll excuse me if I have lingering reservations; my actions caused you and the people you love a great deal of pain. I hope to never again have my actions be directly or indirectly linked with the suffering of others, though I understand my previous deeds will never be forgotten.”

“No, they won’t, Lord Malfoy. But the sentiment is appreciated just the same.” Harry sounded stronger, a little more at ease. Apparently she’d been correct, and a frank conversation had been in order, if just for Harry to realize that Lucius was no longer the same person he had been eight years ago than Harry was. People changed, sometimes drastically. 

More silence, and Hermione wondered if she could safely enter yet. The question was answered when Harry knocked. She knew it was Harry just by the staccato pattern he used. 

She prepared herself, hoping her acting skills would be sufficient before pointing her wand at the door. “Oh Harry I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, that call took longer than I thought it would. But I have that book for Gin!” She passed him an innocuous book and stood to give him a hug. 

“Thanks ‘Mione.” He returned the embrace and very softly whispered into her ear, “You were right again.” He squeezed her a little tighter before letting go and turned to the door with her beside him. “We’ll still be seeing you at ours, yeah?”

“Definitely.” She needed to know what had convinced him. But that was a question for later. Her breath catching at the door wasn’t part of the act, though. 

Lucius was a striking figure on his worst days, but he was obviously aiming to impress. His white-blonde hair hung loose around his shoulders, contrasting sharply against his impeccably cut and styled black robes. He was extremely attractive, even more so without the haughty arrogance marring his aristocratic features. 

“Lucius! I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

His mouth quirked up into a half smile, his steel-grey eyes softening as he took her in.

“Not at all. Mr Potter and I were having a most illuminating conversation.” His eyes flicked to the younger man at her side. 

“Er… Right. Well… G’night ‘Mione. Malfoy.” Harry awkwardly shuffled past Lucius, disappearing out into the hall. Hermione suppressed a smile at Harry’s graceless exit, acutely aware of Lucius’ eyes still on her. 

“Are you ready?” He arched an eyebrow, and she realized she’d been staring. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze sharply. “I have reservations, but they’ll hold if you need more time.”

“Let me just get my cloak.” 

Back in her office, she kicked herself. When was the last time she’d bowed under someone’s gaze like that? She was Hermione Granger! Most men were scared stiff of _her._ Though, that probably explained her fascination with Lucius. She hadn’t had a proper opponent in ages. 

Her last date had been with fellow D.A. member Michael Corner, and had ended in disaster. Ginny had been right, he was a poor loser. That had been over a year ago, and she’d since given up hope and told Ginny there was no way in hell she was going on any more dates with her exes. Neville had suggested setting her up with the new potions master at Hogwarts some time ago, but she’d been busy and hadn’t been at Hogwarts anywhere near as much as she’d been in previous years.

Hermione exchanged her cloak for her robes, and steeled herself for the dance of wits to come.


	5. Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the big night we've all been waiting for! This chapter ended up being a bit longer, but hopefully you all think it's as worth it as I did!

As they walked together, Lucius slowed his steps to allow Hermione to accompany him at a leisurely stroll. 

“I hear you’ve been rather reclusive today.” Lucius gave her a sidelong glance while they waited for the lift. 

“You heard or you missed distracting me during interdepartmental meetings?” Hermione saw his lips twitch from the corner of her eye, and pushed down a twinge of pride as his stone-faced mask slipped bit by bit. 

“I wish I could say it was the latter, but I’ve been at Gringotts for most of the day.” The doors slid open, and he motioned for her to go ahead into the empty lift. She stepped forward, his cologne tickling her nose and making her stomach tighten. 

“And the goblins just happened to know that I’ve been in my office all day?” She lifted her chin defiantly, meeting his unflinching gaze. He smirked. 

“No, that would have been Miss Elmer. She was very interested to hear if I had seen you since the meeting Tuesday.” The doors slid open, and again he let her go ahead, her heels clicking against the marble of the atrium. Other than a pair of Unspeakables and a lone maintenance wizard decorating a Christmas tree across the large space, they were alone.

“Interested? How so?” Hermione let him lead the way to the aparation point, her mind spinning. Why was Rosemary asking about her instead of just coming to speak with her directly?

“Evidently they thought you were upset after you stormed off, and didn’t show your face at the press conference yesterday morning. I have to admit, I would have come to the same conclusion if not for your acceptance of my invitation.” He offered his hand, and she didn’t allow herself to hesitate. 

His hand was warm and sturdy beneath hers, and she wasn’t sure if the jolt she felt was his soft skin against hers or the abrupt aparation. She had to admit he was a skilled apparitionist, their departure and arrival marked with only the slightest of “pop”s. Even Dumbledore had less finesse. 

The aparation left her predictably breathless, and he held her hand until she steadied. It gave her a moment to assess her surroundings, and she realized that they were in Diagon Alley, at a popular upscale Italian restaurant tucked down a side street near Flourish and Blotts. Being in a familiar area put her further at ease, and she was feeling slightly more confident when he opened the door for her. 

Soft music was playing from enchanted instruments in the corner, but no other patrons were to be seen in the open, airy space. It was beautifully decorated for the holiday season, but the complete emptiness threw her. Her confidence wavered. 

“What—“ She was sure a place like this would be packed, even on a Thursday evening. 

“I thought some peace and quiet was in order. I know you like your privacy.” The maître d’ approached, taking their cloaks. Lucius’ eyes lingered over her form fitting dress, but the maître d’ was already whisking them through the room to a table set for two. 

“As do you. Don’t tell me you bought out the whole restaurant for this.” Hermione looked around, feeling guilty at the sheer extravagance of having an entire restaurant for two people. Lucius held out the chair for her, and she sat down, straight-backed and blessing her mother for teaching her proper etiquette. 

He chuckled. “While that is something I would do, the owner owed me a favor, and I cashed it in for an evening of neutral territory.” Lucius took his seat across from her, a smile playing at his lips; his cool mask was gone, like ice melting before a fire. 

“Hell of a favor,” she mused, watching as their glasses filled with a white wine that bubbled merrily in the soft lighting. The music swelled behind her, and for a moment she could have sworn she was in the middle of some kind of bizarre fever dream. 

“It was nothing. Please, just enjoy it. I’m assured the chef will take care of everything. He flashed another genuine smile, and she felt vaguely light headed. What in Merlin’s name was happening? 

The sight of his lips against his wine glass was entirely too titillating and she took a sip of her own to cover her own discomfort. The wine was delicious, tickling her nose and making her mouth water for what was to come. The charcuterie board that appeared was beautifully presented, and she watched in fascination at how gracefully he helped himself. 

“So do settle my curiosity. Was Ms Elmer correct in her assessment?” His steel-colored eyes were silver in the candlelight, and the honest interest was oddly touching. Wait. What was she saying? Lucius Malfoy? Genuine? Honest? Interested? Hermione was fairly certain this was a fever dream now, and she’d wake up any moment. 

“No, I wasn’t angry.” Hermione sighed, her cheeks coloring. “I just don’t remember the last time someone has had me so consistently off-balance. It’s… disconcerting.” She cocked her head, looking for his reaction. 

She got it in the form of a self-satisfied smirk, and a slight inclination of his head. “It was not my intention, however entertaining it may be.”

“Oh please. You’re enjoying it every bit as much as Professor Snape did.” 

“Who do you think taught him all the tricks?” Lucius’ chuckle sent pleasant little shivers down her spine, but she managed to roll her eyes good-naturedly. 

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. You were certainly a guiding influence, as I understand it. Almost as much as Lily was.”

“Almost,” he agreed, a note of… Was that regret? A red flag sprung up in her mind. 

“Do you wish you had a greater influence on him?” Hermione tried to keep the suspicion from coloring her words as dishes of pasta appeared before them both. It smelled heavenly, but her stomach was in knots waiting for his answer. 

“Quite the opposite. I wish I’d had someone like Lily when I was young and impressionable. It would have saved so many so much heartache. She weighed heavily on my mind while I was drafting my initiatives, even though I didn’t know her personally.” The icy, expressionless mask was back. 

Again, Hermione was left temporarily speechless, and then she blurted, “How did you manage to pass them without using my name or Lily’s?” 

Mild surprise lifted his eyebrows, but Hermione held her ground this time. She’d pulled copies of all the laws he’d passed yesterday, and there hadn’t been a single hint of a suggestion that it had been inspired or written for any one person. 

He chewed a bite slowly before swallowing and sighing. “Giving away information that personal goes against everything I am as a Slytherin and a Malfoy. Merlin forbid it would gain not just me new enemies, but a threat to your safety as well. I would not endanger you in such a careless manner. Not again.”

“But I’m nothing to you. Why would it matter?” She was genuinely baffled as to why he would try to shield her. 

“You are the single most influential muggle born witch of the last several centuries, Hermione. Alluded to other not, there are still many out there that believe that you are a substantial threat. I told you I vowed to use my position to help, not hurt. I take that very seriously.” He leaned forward slightly, grey eyes meeting brown in a clash of wills. She bowed first, dropping her eyes to her nearly untouched plate. 

“If you believe that sharing personal information like that is against who you are…” She looked back up to meet his eyes. “Why do you drop your guard with me?”

It would seem she finally had the upper hand. He set his fork down carefully, and took a sip of wine. “You are the only one I can think of in the last three years to have made me feel hopeful… And you managed to do it in a broken lift.”

Something inside her fractured, knowing that he was baring his heart and soul to her again, despite having no reason to trust her. It shattered though, when she realized what he wasn’t saying. 

Hermione reached out to where his hand rested on the tabletop, fingering the stem of his wine glass. He froze when her fingers landed lightly on his, his eyes glued to their hands. 

Hermione tried to ignore the electricity she felt, focusing on trying to read his expression. She didn’t get far. His face was inscrutable for a long minute, and she had no idea what was to come next. Would he open further? Clam up? Or leave and never speak to her again? She couldn’t bring herself to withdraw her hand though. Come what may, but she wasn’t going to back down now; her Gryffindor traits were just as deeply ingrained as his Slytherin ones. 

Lucius surprised her again by doing precisely the one thing she hadn’t foreseen. He flipped his hand so he was holding hers lightly and changed the subject. She allowed herself to leave her hand in his until he looked pointedly at her food. 

Withdrawing her hand to begin eating again, a dull, empty ache replaced the galvanic rush she’d felt. She tried to focus as he regaled her with the antics of the Hogwarts Board of Directors since Professor McGonagall took Dumbledore’s place as Headmistress. Well, technically, she’d replaced Severus Snape… 

She’d accepted long ago that Snape had taken the position not just at Voldemort’s bidding but to protect the students, and that brought her back to her current conundrum with Lucius. Snape managed to fool almost everyone he’d ever come in contact with, and Lucius had just admitted to being a very prominent role model in his life. Was it possible that Lucius wasn’t genuine at all? That he was fooling her? But to what end? 

Blushing, she met his gaze. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been silent, but she was willing to guess it had been an embarrassingly long time. The secondi and contorni courses had passed, a lovely green salad now gracing their plates. 

“I’m sorry. What was that?” 

He shook his head. “It wasn’t important. You obviously have something pressing on your mind.” Flawless manners kept him from asking, but she indulged him in part. 

“I was actually thinking of Professor Snape,” she admitted. 

“Severus? I must be doing a poor job indeed if your thoughts linger there.” He said it lightly, but there was an undercurrent of something else. “Or you are wondering if I am as accomplished at subterfuge as he was.” Pushing the salad plate away, he regarded her thoughtfully. 

Hermione pushed her own plate away, her stomach back in knots. “Lucius, I—“

He looked disappointed, but not surprised, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “Hermione, I do not blame you. Honestly, I’m impressed you’ve let me get this far, though I suspect that you only did to be polite.”

The man gave her a headache, and he never did what she expected. This time was no different. 

He reached into the breast pocket of his robes, extracting a small vial of clear liquid, which he placed in the center of the table. Eyes wide, she looked between it and his face, silently begging him to tell her it wasn’t what she thought it was. 

“It’s your choice.”

“I’m not going to make you—“ 

“I’m offering, willingly.” Calm and steady, but not unaffected, he waited for her to move. 

“I could destroy you with this if I wanted to.” Her hands shook in her lap. 

“You could, but you wouldn’t.”

Veritaserum; the most potent truth potion in the world and he was prepared to submit fully to her. That alone challenged her doubts, yet again. Was this just a bold bluff? Her thoughts spun around her mind until she settled on what she deemed to be the most suitable option. 

She took the vial, and tipped three drops into his water glass. 

“I thank you for the very least not ruining the wine.” Lucius looked vaguely amused, but didn’t shy away. He took the glass, lifting it in a silent toast and drank deeply. While he was drinking, she did the same to her own glass, drinking it before he could protest. 

He sputtered, eyes angry now. “What were you thinking?” 

She set her glass down, feeling a pull to speak. 

“Fair is fair, and I wasn’t going to allow it to be one-sided.” She stopped, blinking rapidly. “Merlin, that’s uncomfortable.” 

He’d raised his hand, rubbing his eyes, but that made him drop it, looking at her in unadulterated exasperation. And then he shocked her again when he began to laugh. His rich voice had nothing on his laugh, and she had the fleeting thought that she could get used to it. 

“You really are fearless.” He was still chuckling, which she took as a good sign. “And you reacted much better than most do, I will admit.” He sat back, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. 

She sat back, a smile playing at her own lips. “I suppose I should have asked before I did that. How long does this last?” 

“Three drops, maybe an hour. It will wear off before dessert is over.” He made a face that told her it was just as uncomfortable for him as it had been for her. “Go ahead and ask anything. I have nothing to hide.”

Chewing on her lip, she deliberated. She was going to be careful to not ask unfair questions. He took a sip of the ruby red wine that had come after the champagne, and she couldn’t help noticing his lips on the rim of the glass again. She was in trouble. 

The salad plates that neither of them had touched disappeared, replaced by plates of various cheeses and fruits. She selected a slice of Brie and a few thin slices of pear and apple while she thought of what to ask. 

She tried to start out easy. 

“Why did you invite me to dinner?”

“I enjoyed our conversation in the lift and hoped to carry on.” His lips quirked up at the benign question, and she blinked. He’d told Harry the truth, then. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

The unpleasant tug was back. 

“A bit. Most men think I’m insufferable.” She felt her cheeks burning, and she dropped her eyes to her hands, again clenched in her lap. 

“Most men are imbeciles.” His voice was soft, kind even, and she took a drink of wine while she tried to digest the information. Her eyes fluttered closed as the onslaught of complex flavors and notes washed over her tongue. It was delicious, and it kept her out of her own head for a heartbeat. 

“I know you have more questions. Go ahead.” 

The most painful question she had danced at the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back, not sure if she wanted the answer. 

“I will not be offended, Hermione. I am all too aware of what I was, and what I appear to be. I want you to know you can trust me.” Lucius’ soft tone made her stomach twist. He couldn’t lie under the influence of veritaserum. He wanted her to trust him. The painful question danced closer to the surface. 

“Do you really not hate muggleborns anymore?"

There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation; he’d been waiting for it. 

“No, Hermione. I do not.” 

Relief spread through her in a dizzying rush, his triumphant smile making her stomach flip. 

“But… how? Why?” She didn’t mean to ask, but the words slipped from her lips. 

“I was raised believing that I was superior, that my lineage made me something more. I was taught to fear muggleborns, that they were stealing our magic and they would be the end of our lives as we knew them.

“It sounds rather ludicrous now, but who was I to challenge what my parents thought? During the first war, I allowed myself to get lost in the rhetoric. I thrive on the feeling of power, and the Dark Lord played into it. Narcissa was raised the same way, and we were in an echo chamber. 

“The Dark Lord fell and I simply allowed myself to continue on. I made the mistake of raising the Draco the same way that I had been. I didn’t allow myself to see the harm. I didn’t let myself look any further, because that would have meant I failed. I failed myself, Narcissa, and Draco. 

“When he returned, I went to his side in fear. I will never be able to adequately tell you the horror I felt when I arrived to see the Diggory boy dead and Potter trapped in that graveyard. I may have thought the boy was arrogant and unbearable, but I didn’t want him dead. He was only a child; the same age as my own son. But I had to protect my son and my wife. 

“When I went to Azkaban, I finally realized how wrong I was. It was a full year of hell. I thought I’d never see them again; it was then I realized that the threat was not from muggleborns but from division. And then I returned home to the Dark Lord in control of my home, and I had no way to protect them.

“Draco lied when you were brought to us to buy you time. Narcissa lied to the Dark Lord himself to save Potter in return for my son’s life. Draco gave Potter his wand to finally kill him for good… and you helped, every step of the way. Potter, the son of a muggleborn is lauded to be the most powerful wizard of our time. Your parents are muggles and you saved us all. You’re both a testament to just how wrong we have been for so long…” He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. 

“I made many, many, many mistakes in my life. But I will not allow myself or my family to ever make them again. I will not allow ignorance and fear to rule our world again. I know I am not alone in my upbringing, so I’m doing everything I can now to prevent it in the younger generations.”

Lucius took a sip of his wine following his monologue, and Hermione blinked rather stupidly, tears filling her eyes. 

“I can’t say I don’t still have moments that 50 years worth of thinking one way doesn’t come through, but I’m doing my best to fix that,” he added with a sad smile. 

She nodded; that was more than she could have asked for. 

“May I ask you a question now? His steel-grey eyes were still steady. 

She tried to nod again, but the veritaserum demanded a verbal answer. 

“Anything.”

“Do you trust me now?” A sardonic smile made him look more like the man he had been, but now she knew the truth. 

“Yes.” His shoulders relaxed, and Hermione wondered why her opinions meant so much to him. “Now can we move on to happier subjects?”

A wide smile lit his face, and her stomach flipped again. 

“Of course. Such as?”

“Next time can you warn me before you throw my concentration out the window before a meeting?” He laughed, that gorgeous, full laugh that made her heart stutter. 

“If you wish, my dear.” Hermione’s breath caught, and he quickly picked up his wine glass.  _ My dear _ . Why did she like the sound of that so much? She was fairly certain he would be able to hear her heart from across the table, but she didn’t mind if it meant she got to hear that again. 

“Are you going to tell anyone about this?” Hermione wasn’t sure if I’m her question sounded uncertain or if it was just because she knew she was. 

“No, though I’m sure you’ll be going to report to Mr Potter as soon as we’re through.” He chuckled at the resulting blush. “I would be more worried if you didn’t. Like I said, I have nothing to hide, and I know how much you care for each other.”

“He’s like the brother I never had.” Hermione wasn’t sure why she was spilling that particular tidbit, but she felt as if Lucius has laid out his soul for her and she wanted him to understand she was just as willing. 

“Would you like to do this again?” He asked carefully. 

“I would. Very much. Maybe without the truth serum though.” 

He laughed, and Hermione felt immensely pleased, and back at ease with her host. He evidently felt the same way, and they picked their way through the cheese and fruit, Lucius expertly steering the conversation back to safer waters. 

They were discussing international trade tariffs when what was left of the cheese and fruit made way for tiramisu. The conversation was circling back to the Goblin War of 1429 when coffee appeared, and Hermione marveled at how effortless it was to talk to him. She had to admit she didn’t know if anyone she normally spoke to knew why the Goblin War of 983 was important, let alone the Goblin War of 1429. 

“Are you alright?” Lucius was watching her intently over his coffee cup. She waited for the uncomfortable pull, but it didn’t come. The veritaserum has worn off, thank Merlin. 

“Better than. I was just thinking I don’t know the last time I had such a nice time at dinner. Even considering the rather… unconventional route it took.” He chuckled, nodding thoughtfully. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had such an interesting experience, I will concur. Though Narcissa would have been appalled if I’d pulled anything so uncouth with her.” Hermione mulled that over while she sipped her coffee. He was comparing her with his late wife, though she was unsure if it was conscious or not. Either way, she wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be a date or not. It certainly felt like one, but she was quickly learning not to make assumptions of Lucius. 

She set her cup down and leaned back in her chair, smiling. “I hope you think cashing in your favor was worthwhile. The chef certainly had things well in hand.”

He inclined his head, letting some of his silky-looking hair fall forward. “It was worth far more than a silly favor.” His grey eyes caught hers, and she reached across the table for his hand again. 

“Thank you, Lucius. For trusting me.” 

Like before, he flipped his hand so he was cradling hers gently; but this time he lifted it to his lips, brushing her knuckles with the softest of kisses. The shock reverberated through her body, blood rushing to her cheeks. His grey eyes danced, watching her reaction unfold. 

“The honor is all mine, Hermione.” She felt dizzy, and was worried that she wouldn’t be able the stand when he released her hand and stood himself. He helped her with her chair, and offered his arm to see her to the door. 

The maître d’ materialized with their cloaks, and Lucius nodded his thanks. When she managed to force her fingers to work and fastened her cloak securely, he opened the door and placed his hand lightly on her lower back. Any other time she would have been outraged by the action; now all she wanted was for him to hold her tightly. 

Face burning at the thought, she allowed him to maneuver her out into the quiet street. The cold air helped, but when she took a deep breath in, all she could smell was Lucius’ cologne. Thankfully he spoke, keeping her from taking a nose dive into his chest for more. 

“Would you like me to apparate you home?” His silky voice sounded unsure. She debated with herself for a moment before shaking her head. 

“Thank you, but no. I’m not going directly home.” She turned to face him, struck again by how tall and broad he was. “Thank you for dinner. It really was lovely. Will you be at the Ministry tomorrow?” 

He hesitated. “No, I won’t. I have more business at Gringotts to attend to.” She tried not to look too crestfallen, but the disappointment colored her voice. 

“Then I hope I’ll get to see you next week.” He smiled at that. 

“I’ll be there to distract you from Ms Elmer’s meeting, you have my word.” She smiled, but realized she was stalling now. She wondered if he was too. 

“Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.” With one last smile she stepped back and turned, aparating with a “pop.”


	6. Explanations

She landed on a quiet street in front of a picturesque little home, complete with a white picket fence and warm light spilling from the windows. Knocking on the door, she took a deep, steadying breath. 

“Oh good.” Harry turned and yelled over his shoulder, “It’s ‘Mione!” Opening the door wider, he stepped aside and let her in. She shook off her cloak and kicked off her high heels with a sigh of relief. 

Ginny appeared at the door of the entryway, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips. She definitely got that from Molly. 

“Well don’t you look nice. Will you please tell me who this date was with? Harry hasn’t sat still since he got home, but he won’t tell me anything either.” She was dragging Hermione into the sitting room by her elbow, pointing her wand toward the kitchen. 

Hermione shot a glare over her shoulder at Harry, who shrugged helplessly. 

She took her usual chair in the Potter’s sitting room next to the fire, facing the sofa Ginny and Harry settled in. 

“I honestly don’t know if you can call it a date if there’s veritaserum involved,” she admitted. Ginny’s eyes widened and Harry looked furious. 

“If he spiked your—“

“Harry shut up. I’m talking to my friend, not the Auror Director. He didn’t spike anything. He brought a vial to calm  _ my  _ fears. It was my choice, and he took it willingly.” 

“If he brought it, and he took it, how are you sure it was veritaserum at all?” Harry looked as if he was going to go strangle Lucius with his bare hands.

“Because I took it too.” And then emphasized, “ _ against his wishes.”  _

“Hermione do you know how stupid that was?” Harry looked outraged. 

“Who the fuck felt the need to bring truth serum on a date? What fears?” Ginny looked between Harry and Hermione, nearly as outraged as her husband. 

Hermione sighed, slumping down in the chair. 

“Lucius Bloody Malfoy,” Harry finally ground out. 

“YOU KNEW AND YOU LET HER GO?” Ginny’s rage made the frames on the fireplace rattle. 

“She’s an adult, I couldn’t stop her!” 

“I’m right here!”

“WHY THE HELL DID YOU GO?” Ginny turned on Hermione, who raised her chin defiantly. 

“Because I like him.” The words stopped Ginny in her tracks, and she looked back and forth between them again. 

“Bloody hell Hermione. You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ginny’s eyes were as wide as saucers. 

“Well now you know why he felt the need for the serum,” she said haughtily. “Because nobody believes he’s changed otherwise!”

“You obviously didn’t if you used it on him!” Harry shot back at her. 

“But I did. And he was 100% honest with you in my office earlier. He’s not trying to use me. We enjoy each other’s company.” She crossed her arms, huffing. 

Ginny just blinked at her as if she’d been caught by a confundus charm, and Harry seethed quietly, staring into the flames of the fire. 

Ginny stood and stalked out of the room, leaving Harry and Hermione in silence. Slamming sounds came from the kitchen, and Harry shook his head. 

“You better tell me exactly what happened from the time I left.” 

She was barely getting to their arrival at the empty restaurant when Ginny reappeared with tea. She retook her place at Harry’s side and listened carefully. 

Hermione detailed nearly everything, except her feelings of attraction to the man and his slip in calling her “my dear.” By the end, both Harry and Ginny were resigned, if not still annoyed by her perceived recklessness. 

“So… You’ll be seeing him again.” Harry stared into the dregs of his tea petulantly. 

“He’ll be at the meeting with the Muggleborn Registration Committee on Tuesday, so I expect so, yes.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You know what we mean.” 

“Well I certainly hope so. He’s… rather brilliant, really.” Hermione blushed, and took a sip of tea to give her something to do other than smile like a love-struck teenager. 

“Oh Godric…” Ginny looked suddenly sick. “What’s Ron going to say?” 

***

As it happened, she would find out first thing the next morning. He was waiting for her in her office, a look of disgust plastered on his face, the tips of his ears red. 

“Morning Ron. What are you doing here this early?” Hermione asked as she hung her cloak and set a pile of paperwork on her desk. 

Ron shut the door with a flick of his wand and her stomach sank when he started throwing up silencing charms. 

“Please tell me Whipple didn’t see what he thinks he saw last night.” He crossed his arms, looking murderous. 

“What does Vance think he saw?” But she already knew. Vance Whipple was the maintenance wizard that had been decorating the tree in the Atrium when she’d left with Lucius. 

“You aparating with that bastard Malfoy.” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and calmly replied, “I believe he must’ve been mistaken,” Ron heaved a sigh of relief, but she continued. “Because Lucius is no bastard.” 

Ginny’s anger the night before looked like children’s play against Ron’s. His face went a rather nasty shade of purple, and the glass in all of her picture frames shattered. Papers were blown around the room as if a tornado was ripping through the space, and she sighed. This would take ages to sort when he was finished. 

He began to shout, though it was all the same points that Harry and Ginny had already made, so she waited until he was done shouting. When he was done, his magic calmed and the last of the papers fluttered to the ground. Her ears were ringing after the shouting and wind, but she sat down and looked at him coolly. 

“Are you finished, Ronald?” She was tired from her late night out and early morning, and distinctly not in the mood for his temper tantrums. 

“Why aren’t you denying any of this?” Ron’s blue eyes were pleading. 

“There’s nothing to deny. Yes I know who he is, what he did, and why he did it. I also know he’s changed, and I like him. Did I miss anything?” 

Ron’s mouth worked like a fish, no sound coming out. “Disgusting.” He snapped his mouth shut, and tore the door open, storming out. 

“Sorry Mr Weasley!” Janet squeaked, before poking her head in and her eyes going wide. “Ms Granger! Are you okay?” 

Hermione sighed. “I’m fine. Can you help me clean this up so I can get to work?” Janet joined her, and the office was set to rights. Hermione was sitting back down when Janet came back in. 

“I’m sorry I got distracted. These came for you while Mr Weasley was here.” She looked up to Janet carrying an enormous bouquet of roses in various shades of pink, from fuchsia to blush to white. 

“Is… is there a… a card?” Hermione couldn’t think straight. Janet plucked a cream envelope from the depths of the blooms and handed it over. The outside was unmarked, but she was fairly certain she knew who it was from. 

Her hunch was proven correct. 

_ Hermione, _

_ Thank you for allowing us to make a fresh start. I look forward to seeing you again soon.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Lucius  _

“So? Who are they from?” Janet was practically salivating for gossip. 

“A friend. Thanks Janet.” It was unmistakable dismissal, and Janet retreated, looking disappointed. Hermione was going to have a hell of a time breaking that one. She wouldn’t be surprised if Janet quit over it, honestly. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. 

She pushed the thought away until Harry barged in around lunch time. 

“Bloody hell ‘Mione. Please tell me he turned this place into a flower shop after Ron left.” Harry pushed a hand through his hair, the other on his hip. 

“You mean after Ronald came in and destroyed my office while screaming that I was disgusting? Yes, I received the very nice gift after he left.” Hermione’s voice was icy, and she continued working without looking up. 

“Fuck. ‘Mione I’m sorry. He was bang out of line.” 

“I’m very aware, thank you Harry.” She kept writing, signing her name fluidly at the bottom and tucking the thank you note in an envelope. “I need to go post this. Do you want to drop it and come with me or do you want to keep apologizing for the prat and get hexed?” 

Harry blinked, but shut his mouth and opened the door for her. She stalked out past him, and he followed on her heels. She’d chosen a flared knee-length skirt and flats today, and he had to nearly jog to keep up with her on the way to the Ministry owlery. 

The barn owl she selected was long gone before she spoke again. 

“I’m going to see him again. I don’t care what Ron thinks or says, Harry. You guys weren’t there last night. You don’t understand.” 

“You’re right. We don’t understand. We still see him for what he was. I believe you that he’s changed, but I spoke to him face to face. And I had a bit more warning.” 

“How did Ron even find out?” Hermione turned to face him, tears filling her eyes.

“Vance Whipple saw you leaving with him last night. He was in our office trying to fix the hole an exploding howler left in our ceiling early this morning. He was asking if you two were working together. His wife’s muggleborn, and he’s very supportive of the work you and Malfoy have been doing. He didn’t mean any harm. Ron lost his head, but I got pulled in a briefing with Kingsley before I could stop him.”

“You can’t run to Ron’s rescue every time he fucks up, Harry. Especially now that you're in charge.” She wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. 

“I know. But I don’t want him to fuck up even worse and ruin any chances he has of fixing it before you’re in any deeper with Malfoy and he’s too stupid and stubborn to apologise.” He watched her for a bit, then wrapped his arm around her as they stepped into the lift. “Let’s go get some lunch and not worry about the tosser. I’ll sic Gin on him later.” 

Hermione giggled at that, wiping rogue tears from her cheeks. The lift doors slid open and Ron looked up, guilt flooding his features when he saw Hermione’s tears. He got in but didn’t say a word. 

“Ron don’t be a prick.” Harry spoke up as soon as the doors slid shut. 

“I’m not the one jumping in the sack with the Death Eater.” The venom in his voice brought the tears back to the surface. 

“Ron!” Harry’s voice was sharper this time, but Hermione whirled, wand drawn. 

“Is that what you think? That I drop my pants for anyone? That’s all I am? A Death Eater whore?” While she was screaming, the door behind her slid open. She turned to storm out, regardless of what floor she was on, but was blocked by a towering figure in navy robes. 

Lucius’ eyes widened and hardened, even as Hermione heard Harry fire off a containment spell. The corridor behind Lucius was thankfully empty, but all the blood drained from her face, and her hands went cold. Oh no. The tears spilled over, and she pushed past him, humiliated and mortified that he’d not just heard her fight with Ron but saw her crying.

He let her go, and she was grateful that they’d ended up on the floor of her office. She fled inside, gathering files and her cloak before telling Janet she was taking the rest of the day. 

“What about your meeting with—“

“Reschedule it. I have to go.”

“Yes ma’am. Have a good—“ but Hermione was already halfway down the hall before she could finish her farewell. 

She headed for the stairs instead of the lifts, and her lungs were burning when she got to the atrium. She saw Lucius coming from across the cavernous space, but she reached the fireplace first. “Hogwarts!” 

A flash of green flames, and she was stumbling out onto Minerva’s rug. 


	7. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor spoilers ahead for Chances and Choices Chapter 24, The Arrival

December 8, 2006

“Hermione?” The stern Headmistress had become one of her closest friends since leaving school, and even more so when Hermione became the Director of Magical Education at the Ministry. 

“Minerva!” Hermione was still gasping from her dash across the Ministry. “I’ll explain it all later, I swear. But if Lucius Malfoy or Harry or any of the Weasleys come through, you didn’t see me!” 

Minerva, to her credit, sat back down at her desk and waved towards the door. “I’ll have tea here at four.”

“Thank you!” Hermione was already at the door, the door swinging shut as the fireplace came to life with green flames once more. 

Confident in Minerva’s diversionary abilities, she slowed one floor down. Class was in session for another ten minutes, so she didn’t run into anyone until the second floor corridor, where she nearly knocked over tiny Professor Flitwick, who was talking to a new professor that looked vaguely familiar. Tall with wavy blond hair and smokey blue eyes, she couldn’t quite place his face. 

“Ms Granger! I see being away hasn’t slowed you down one bit.” 

“Sorry Professor!” She kept going, anxious to get to the grounds before lunch started. 

Seven minutes later, she was slipping out of the snow and in the door of greenhouse 1, where Professor Longbottom was dismissing his first year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. 

“Hermione!” Neville’s face lit up until he saw the files in her arms. “You’re not here to audit me, are you? Or is this about those two that got poisoned? I swear they’re fine…”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “No. I just needed you.” She stopped, eyes narrowing. “What poisoned students? Wait.” She shook her head, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to know. I didn’t hear that.” He grinned again.

“You’ve got me, and you didn’t hear a thing. Give me just a minute.” She nodded and collapsed in a chair to catch her breath. Neville hustled the remaining students from the room, a few of them looking at her with open curiosity, then waved his wand to clean the area for the next class. When he was done, he motioned for her to follow, leading her to his large, airy office. Several plants dotted the room, including she noted with a snort, the mimbulus mimbletonia from their fifth year. 

He sat at his desk, and she took the chair across from him, tipping her files into the chair next to her. She took a moment to catch her breath, and Neville waited, watching her just as carefully as Lucius had the night before. 

“You’ve been crying. It was Ron, wasn’t it?” It was phrased as a question, but she knew it wasn’t. So she nodded. 

“What this time? Lavender get jealous again?” She shook her head and took a deep breath, fighting the tears. 

“Did you ever get flack for befriending someone on the wrong side of the war?” He looked surprised, but nodded. 

“People still get worked up when I’m out with Blaise or Pans, and there were few curses with Draco, but that all settled down years ago. People get mouthy, but not much else anymore. Why?” 

“I know you’re Draco’s best mate, but you can’t tell him a word of this. Or Hannah. Hell, anyone. This is me and you, Nev.” 

“Okay. What’s going on?” He leaned forward, his brows pulling together and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. 

“I got stuck in a lift with Lucius a couple days ago—“

“Lucius Malfoy?” His eyebrows shot straight up. 

“Yeah. Well we got to talking, and had a good time. Well he invited me to dinner last night and—“

“Wait you got him to have a discussion?”

“Neville!”

“Sorry.” He shut his mouth and clamped a hand over it for good measure. 

“We went out for dinner and had a really nice night. We just talked, about everything. He even sent me flowers this morning. But Ron found out and went ballistic. He destroyed my office this morning, and basically called me a Death Eater whore in the lift. I started screaming at him, and the lift opened with Lucius right there. I don’t know how much he heard. But I left- I was so humiliated- and came here. I told Minerva to head off anyone that came looking, but I needed to not be looked at like THAT.” 

Neville had dropped his hand, and his mouth was hanging open in shock.

“Well fuck, Hermione. You really don’t do ANYTHING halfway.” 

She shook her head miserably, burying her face in her hands. 

“Okay… Hold on I gotta wrap my head around this one.” He started shuffling around, and when she chanced a peek, he had a teapot and a tin of biscuits out. 

“So let me get this right. You got stuck, and you got him to talk?” He pushed a cup of tea at her and poured his own. 

“Uh, it was actually him that got me to talk, if we're being honest.”

“And then he took you to dinner, which wasn’t in the Prophet this morning, so I’m assuming it was private.”

“Bella Vita, in Diagon Alley. He said the owner owed him a favor so we were the only ones in the place.” Neville snorted. 

“Explains why Blaise was at the Broomsticks last night.”

“Wait, BLAISE owns it? Blaise Zabini?” He nodded, but kept going. 

“You talked, more, and parted ways, but he sent you flowers this morning. What were they?”

“Uh… Pink and white roses, I think. Why does that matter?” Neville just nodded, yanking a book from the shelf behind his desk, flipping through the pages. While he searched, he kept talking. 

“And then Ron found out and went off his rocker, but Lucius heard you fighting about it. Please tell me Harry knows at least.”

“Yeah. I told him before dinner. And then I went to his place after, so Gin knows too. I think he actually hexed Ron to keep him from going after Lucius at the Ministry. I’m not sure though.” Neville sighed in relief, and evidently found what he was looking for. 

“Okay. Well I’ve known Lucius for a few years now, and he’s barely spoken to anyone since Narcissa died. I don’t know how you did it, but it’s a hell of a feat. Astoria and Pansy ganged up on him one day, and his longest response was still only three words long.” She blinked at that. He’d talked far more than that in all of their discussions so far. 

“As for the flowers,” he pushed the book towards her. “It’s a bit old fashioned, but flowers _mean_ things. He was sending a message of sorts.”

She took the book, and scanned down the page. 

_White roses are indicative of new beginnings, hope, and purity._

_Pink roses speak of softer emotions; appreciation, innocence, and grace._

She snorted. Well. That shouldn’t have surprised her at all. 

“Did you read the bit on yellow roses?” 

“No he didn’t get me yellow ones…” but she was already reading. 

_Yellow roses are the only ones that should be sent platonically, as the rest are considered to be representative of romance._

Well fuck. There went her friend theory. But at the same time, she had a surge of hope that he knew that, and better yet, meant it. She took a deep breath and passed the book back. 

“So. There’s that. And then there’s whatever he may or may not have heard in the lift. If Draco has taught me anything, it’s that Malfoys stop at nothing to get what they want. As you’re upset, I’m going to go with the assumption that you were defending Lucius, and that will carry quite the weight with him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still Lucius Malfoy, and he’s probably pissed as hell at Ron, but it won’t change whatever spell it is you have on him.” Neville pushed the biscuits toward her. 

“I honestly have no idea what you’re in for, with him. He and Narcissa were…” he thought hard. “He and Narcissa were the kind of couple that were _made_ for each other. They’re one of the few sacred twenty-eight couples I know of that actually liked each other, let alone loved each other and stayed faithful. He was destroyed by her death. For a while there, Draco was afraid he would waste away, without her to live for.”

“Draco is going to freak out when he finds out, isn’t he?” She dropped her face into her hands again. 

“I’ll bet you ten galleons Draco already knows,” Neville snickered. She looked up, panic flooding through her. 

“If he doesn’t this minute, he sure as hell will by tonight.”

“You wouldn’t tell…”

“No, but you’d be amazed what he can sniff out. It’s like being friends with bloody Sherlock Holmes.” Neville was laughing now, and Hermione cringed. She couldn’t face Draco knowing she was seeing his father. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. He’ll be a lot more chill about it than Ron was.”

“He’s going to be chill that his father is dating someone his age?” Hermione cringed to finally get it out in the open. 

“Age isn’t really a thing when it comes to wizarding relationships. Especially in old families like the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It sounds absurd, but that’s just how it is. Hell, Pans was supposed to marry Andrew Flint, and he’s ten years older than Lucius. He was Marcus Flint’s dad but got dragon pox our fourth year.”

Hermione chewed on her lip, trying to swallow this information. Neville sighed. 

“Why don’t you come out with me, Hannah, and Pans tonight? I think she’s getting Justin Finch-Fletchley, and… oh what’s his face from Ravenclaw too. I would have asked Matt, Axios, and Viv but she’s on lock down after that arse showed up Wednesday, and they’re having it out…”

“Who showed up?” Hermione hadn’t heard of anything happening at the school.

“That American healer that got sacked from Mungo’s? Apparently he’s Viv’s ex… He made the mistake of threatening her in her office, in front of Matt and Axios. So she’s always got one of them or me with her til he’s sorted, Harry’s orders.” Hermione blinked. How had she missed that news? Oh right. She’d been hiding from Lucius in her office. Lovely. But why hadn’t Harry mentioned it?

Neville went on. “Draco and Astoria won’t be there though, so you’re safe. Draco still hates Justin for that party our eighth year.” Hermione snorted. Justin had called Draco’s girlfriend a Death Eater whore at that party. She felt for him, considering the circumstances.

“If it’s Michael Corner, I’m not going. I don’t even know if I should go with Justin.”

“Nah Corner’s a tosser. The one that was the prefect the year after us. Justin’s not so bad now. He was a right git in school, but he’s grown out of it.”

“No idea who he is, but why not. Think Hannah has something I can wear? I’d rather not go home and get ambushed by Ron or Harry, and I have tea with Minerva at four to make up for using her office as my escape hatch.” 

“Yeah you bet.” He smiled widely. “This will be fun.”

“Neville? Thanks for being a good friend. And do me a favor and get me drunk off my arse tonight.” He roared with laughter. 

“You got it.” 


	8. Stars

Neville let her use his office to work in, and by four, she’d gotten quite a bit of work done, as well as calmed significantly. She left her files, and made the hike back to Minerva’s office. She was not behind her desk, but in a cushy-looking armchair with a book in hand. 

“Ah you’re just in time.” She set her book aside and tapped the table once with her wand. A full tea appeared, and Hermione took her place gratefully. She hadn’t been hungry enough for a decent lunch, but now she was starving and Minerva had all of her favorites. 

“Well I shouldn’t be surprised, but you were three for three. Would you mind filling me in on why Lucius Malfoy was pulling out his Holier-Than-Thou persona? I hadn’t seen that one in a while.”

Hermione blushed scarlet, and nearly choked on her tea. 

“Or why an hour later, Mr Weasley threatened to search the castle with Mr Potter right behind him, using hexes I would have given a months’ worth of detention for?”

Hermione dropped her face into her free hand. They were all going to be the death of her. 

“I’m so sorry, Minerva… All of this happening on top of your situation with Viv...”

Minerva laughed, which sounded odd from the usually no-nonsense woman. “It was actually quite entertaining, once I had Mr Weasley transfigured back from a weasel, though I would have thought Mr Potter would have more imagination than that. As for Vivienne, I’m most upset that he could get to her here. Mathieu and Axios had it well enough in hand, but I know she’s having a difficult time with it.”

Hermione sighed, and filled in her former Head of House, keeping to the basics and leaving out the finer details (such as the veritaserum and what the flowers meant). 

When she was finished, Minerva clucked her tongue. “You never could find the easy way out of anything, could you?” 

“That’s what Neville said.” 

“Well he was correct. For what it’s worth, Lucius was worried about you.”

“He said that?” Hermione looked up, amazed. 

“Not in so many words. You I forget that I taught him. I still remember the boy that feared his father and pursued Narcissa Black shamelessly. He hasn’t changed as much as some think.” Minerva cocked her head, appraising her former star student. 

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Hermione jumped. 

“I think, Ms Granger, you’d do well to have a conversation with Lucius.” 

“Severus…” Minerva’s warning was ignored by the portrait directly behind her desk. 

Severus Snape rolled his eyes. “He’s seeing stars, Minerva. I won’t pretend to understand why…” he eyed the younger witch with distaste. “But that’s his own business and once he has his eye on something, he doesn’t let go.” 

“Severus, I just returned you to the wall. Would you like to be removed again?” 

He scowled at Minerva, but fell silent, his black eyes falling to the notes on her desk. 

“Just as moody as he was in life, I’m afraid,” Minerva offered apologetically. 

“He’s right though. I need to talk to him. But that will have to wait. I’m going out with Neville and some others tonight. With any luck, I won’t see the light of day til Sunday afternoon.” 

She caught Snape’s exaggerated eye-roll, but Minera just smiled. 

“Thank you for the tea, and for covering for me. I needed this afternoon.” 

“You know you’re welcome any time. Let me know how your chat with Lucius goes. And tell Mr Potter I suggest transfiguring Mr Weasley into a Pygmy Puff next time, he may get the message a bit more clearly. A weasel was far too generous.” 

Hermione left to return to Neville’s office, and got caught in the swarm of students heading towards dinner. Her ocean-blue robes kept her from being mistaken as a student, not that it was necessary. All of the teachers and a wide majority of the students knew who she was between the gossip section of the Daily Prophet and her position in the Magical Education department at the ministry. 

Some of the older students waved, and most of the professors said hello, including Axios Fairview and Vivienne Beaulieu, but she was relieved to get back to Neville’s office.

“Feel better?”

“Minerva thinks Lucius is worried about me, Severus, or his portrait rather, thinks I need to talk to him. I just want to not think about Lucius Malfoy or Ron Weasley for a couple of days.”

“That’s fair. Hannah is ready for you if you wanna go now. Pans is there too. You can crash at our place tonight if you want.”

“Thanks Nev.”

She took a handful of floo powder, and went to meet Hannah and Pansy at Neville’s flat. 


	9. Lights

Pansy wasted no time in dressing her up like her own doll. 

“Are you sure this isn’t a bit much?” Hermione watched in alarm as Pansy piled her curls higher and higher, charming them in place. Hannah laughed, waving Hermione off. 

“Just let her do her thing. She’s not going to listen.”

“Hermione, you need to burn off some energy and get laid. This is how we’re going to manage it.” Pansy kept prodding her hair with her wand. 

“Pansy I don’t need to get laid, I need to get drunk. And I think the heels are going to make that hard.” Pansy had an emerald green minidress and stiletto heels laid out for Hermione to change into when she was done with her hair and makeup. It was a far cry from what she would have chosen on her own. 

“They’ll make sure you don’t pay for your own drinks!” She gave Hermione’s hair one last prod with her wand. “Perfect. And now your makeup. How do you feel about red lipstick?” Hermione knew it was going to happen if she wanted it to or not, so she kept quiet. 

The Slytherin girl finished off her makeup with glittery eyeliner and blood red lips before disappearing into her room and emerging in a silver sequined mini dress and similarly precarious heels. Her jet black hair was cut into a sleek bob, and she chose a slightly brighter red lipstick than she’d used on Hermione. 

Hannah dressed in a tight black dress and heels, her makeup far more conservative than what Pansy had done. 

While she was dressing herself, she applied a concealment charm on the scars covering her left forearm, and cushioning and stability charms on the impossibly high heels. She wanted to get drunk, not break an ankle. 

Neville had come in while Pansy had been deliberating between putting Hermione in green or gold. He gave Hannah a kiss, suggested green might be appropriate for the night, and breezed out before Hermione could aim a stinging jinx at him. She was still seething, but couldn’t say anything in front of Pansy and Hannah without revealing something and she wasn’t ready for that.

Neville and Hannah slipped off to meet Justin, leaving Pansy and Hermione to meet them at the club later. Pansy finally determined they were ready to go, and they aparated to the club, Lights. 

Being one of the Golden Trio and the friend of the Snake Slayer had its perks, and permanent VIP status at the premier wizarding nightclub was one of them. They sashayed past the velvet ropes, joining Neville, Hannah, Justin, and the Ravenclaw (David, Pansy called him). 

“Damn, looking good ladies!” Justin raised his glass to them while they took their seats. Pansy gave him a cheeky wink before sliding in next to Neville, and Hermione slipped in between Hannah and David. 

A waitress came around, passing her a double firewhiskey and a round of Tenta-quila for the table. She never really liked the stuff, but her aim here was to get drunk, so she toasted to friendship and downed it in one, followed quickly by a slice of lime and then moved on to nursing her firewhiskey. 

She decided after the waitress handed her a second firewhiskey that she was actually supposed to be socializing. Hannah was busy talking Justin up, so she turned to David, but his eyes were glued to a wizard across the way. 

“Do you know him?” Hermione tried her best not to scream in his ear over the music. He looked up at her, surprised; but he nodded. 

“He’s my ex. Dumbest thing I ever did was let him go.” He finished his drink and signaled for another, oblivious to Hermione’s faraway look. Was she going to let Lucius go? She tried to focus on the man beside her instead. 

“So go talk to him!” A waitress brought another round of tenta-quila and they paused to drink. Hermione pulled a face and David laughed. 

“What about you? Anyone you have your eye on?” Hermione shook her head vigorously, despite Lucius’ name on her tongue. 

“Shame, any guy in here would do just about anything to win you over!” Visions of roses and empty restaurants swam before her eyes, and she shook it off.

“Let’s go dance!” Pansy and Hannah took both of her hands, and pulled her to the dance floor. Pulsating music and too many bodies closed in, and she cursed them for not getting her drunk enough before getting her on the floor. As she moved though, the alcohol suffused her system, and she was able to relax into the rhythm with the other two girls. She wasn’t into clubbing, but tonight she couldn’t find the energy to stave off thoughts of Lucius and simultaneously fight off the girls’ insistance to dance, so she picked one. Pushing away thoughts of the man she couldn’t understand, she allowed her friends to pull her along to the beat of the music.

Soon they were hot and ready for more drinks so they returned to the table. The boys had sprawled out over the seats, and the waitress brought another round as the girls sat again. This time Hermione ended up between Pansy and Justin, and she polished off her firewhiskey in time to catch the waitress’ eye for a refill. 

She was feeling quite warm and increasingly relaxed, the alcohol keeping her from thinking too much about how she’d ended up here instead of home with a book. She managed to get Justin to go dance in her place the next time Pansy shrieked that she loved the song. 

Neville leaned over. “Drunk enough yet?” Hermione shook her head, and he laughed. “That bad, eh? Only thing for it! More shots!” He waved at the waitress and David slid over. 

“Let’s do this!” David took a glass. “To admitting love!” He downed it, and staged whispered to Hermione, “Wish me luck!” He stumbled out onto the dance floor towards the wizard he’d been staring at for the past hour and a half. He seemed to have some luck, because it wasn’t long before they were lip-locked and moving towards a back corner. Neville and Hermione watched the others move around the floor, lost in their own thoughts. 

With just the two of them still at the table, Neville leaned closer. “You’re still thinking about Lucius. It’s all over your face.” She shrugged. He raised an eyebrow, and she broke. 

“I need to talk to him… I need to know if it’s all real.” She glared at her empty glass, and saw Neville heave a sigh from the corner of her eye. 

“Draco and Astoria are at her brother’s. He’s home alone.” Hermione froze, her glass halfway to her lips before lowering it slowly. “He’s a night owl so he’ll be up. Go talk to him, you’ll feel better.”

“And I am drunk, which makes that a tremendously bad idea.” 

Neville pressed a vial into her hand. A sobering solution. “Go. Be back in an hour and nobody will know.” She kissed his cheek. 

“You’re the best.” He gave her a cheeky grin. 

“I know. Now go, ‘fore Pans and Hannah come back!” 

She didn’t need to be told twice. She moved towards the door, gathering her cloak and slipping out the door. She downed the minty-flavored potion and pulled another face, plummeting back into sobriety. Once she hit the edge of the wards, she apparated to the house she swore she’d never return to. 


	10. Apologies

She appeared before the wrought iron gates, and her stomach sank. It was late, even if he was awake, what were the chances he even wanted to see her? 

It was too late to change her mind, and the gates were opening. She strode down the long drive, her heavy cloak somehow urging her to go on. At the top of the steps to the heavy doors, she slowed, but they swung open, beckoning her in. She took a deep breath, and stepped into the dark entrance hall. 

Candles lit themselves as her heels clicked against the marble, echoing around the room. She was losing her nerve when a little house elf approached. She had the same big ears that denoted her race, and her tennis-ball eyes were blue. She wore a crisp white pillowcase fashioned into a ruffled dress, tied with a silver ribbon, and she smiled widely up at Hermione. 

“Miss! Master will be so pleased you came. Please come with Bigsy to Master’s study.” 

“If he’s not awake, I don’t want to impose…”

“Master is in his study. Master was worried for the miss. He will be so pleased to see the miss!” The little house elf bounced along ahead of her, humming happily. The large, dark halls made her chest tighten; the fear crawling up her spine was nauseating. Up a massive marble staircase, and down another hall, the clicking of her heels rang in her ears. Music was coming from somewhere, a sad piano piece that Hermione vaguely recognized. Finally the house elf knocked smartly on a door, opening it without waiting for an answer. 

“The Miss has come, Sir.” The music spilling from the room stopped abruptly, almost discordant. 

“Thank you, Bigsy.” The house elf opened the door wider, waving her forward. The room she stepped into was much lighter and warmer than she expected, and much more welcoming. The deep greens and browns reminded her of a forest clearing; the polished grand piano reflecting the light, a pool of water. She felt her fear of the home diminish slightly. 

Lucius stood only a few steps from the piano bench. He was still in his navy blue robes, and he looked… tired. But he started to smile when he saw that it was really her, until his eyes widened in horror. He moved as if he was going to rush to her side, but he stopped himself. 

“Hermione… You didn’t need to come back here.” 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry for calling so late…” She looked down at her hands twisting around her wand, suddenly unsure of her mission. 

“Please don’t apologise. You are welcome here whenever you please. I didn’t expect…” He seemed to snap out of his surprise, his tried and true mask taking over. “Please, come sit.” He waved a hand toward several large armchairs near the fire. She wanted to approach him directly, but didn’t think she could. “Would you like anything to drink?”

She shook her head and took a chair, and he sat across from her, leaning back and crossing his long legs. She swallowed hard, mouth dry, unsure where to begin. 

“I’m sorry, Lucius.” She closed her eyes tight, willing herself not to cry again. 

“I’m not sure what for.” Lucius’ voice was steady, and she laughed, a humorless, clipped bark. 

“I can give you a laundry list. Starting with my appalling behavior this morning. And then again this afternoon.”

“I assume, based on your dress, which if my memory serves belongs to Ms Parkinson, that you haven’t been home since you fled to Hogwarts. If you had, you would have already been in possession of my own apology and assurances that you did nothing wrong.” 

Her eyes popped open to search his face. “What do you have to apologise for?” 

“Well I started with Minerva, though I’m sure she considered the tongue-lashing she gave me in her office to be sufficient. And then to you, for both causing you obvious discomfort and for putting you in the position I did.” 

She blinked, not sure if she understood what he was saying. “You’re not… I mean, you didn’t…” She grappled with what she was trying to come to terms with herself. 

“Hermi—“ he cleared his throat. “Ms Granger. I didn’t anticipate the fallout of our… Friendship… to appear so quickly. And for that I’m deeply sorry.” 

“I told you, it’s Hermione. And the “fallout” you’re speaking of was the man that thinks about as far beyond himself as the bloody great squid! If you think I care what he thinks, or what anyone thinks for that matter, you haven’t been paying very close attention for the last… What, sixteen years? I don’t care what people think of me.” 

His eyes widened slightly, but otherwise his mask of indifference was firmly in place. 

“Stop. Doing. That,” she ground out, her temper flaring. “You don’t get to be open with me one moment and then hide the next. If you want to hide from the rest of the world, fine. But please don’t close me out.” 

Lucius’ right hand- his wand hand- twitched, but he didn’t speak. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling. 

“You make it sound as if I will be given more opportunities to do so, Ms Granger.” 

“Hermione,” she snapped. “And are you trying to tell me that you’re going to just give up without even trying? You’ll give me just enough to give me a taste of what I want more than anything, but not enough to satisfy. Not to speak of enough to let me give you what you need in return.”

Her tears spilled over. 

“Fresh starts. Admiration. Hope. Grace. It doesn’t mean a damn thing, does it?” 

He was quiet, and she stood. “I’m sorry for bothering you, Lord Malfoy. Have a pleasant evening.” She was halfway across the room when he finally spoke. 

“Hermione…” it was so soft, she almost missed it, but she froze. She felt him approach her, coming up behind her. She waited, tears trickling down her face. His hand hovered over her arm for a long moment, but he withdrew before he touched her. 

“I’m not made of glass.” She sounded so pathetic, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“If I allow myself this, I will not let you go.” His breath was in her hair, and in that moment she wasn’t afraid of what anyone would think. Not Harry or the Weasleys, or Draco, or the Ministry. All she cared about was him. 

“Are your friends still expecting you back?” She could smell him now, feel his body a hair’s breadth from hers, but she couldn’t make herself turn around. She was frozen in place, aching for his touch since he’d aparated them to the restaurant. 

“I don’t care.” Her voice shook. 

“I do. Go to them, let them know you’re safe. But come back to me.” His fingers trailed down her arm, electricity following his barely-there touch through her cloak. “The floo connected to this room is Malfoy Manor, Master Study. I’ll wait for you.” His lips were so close to her ear… and then he backed away. 

Hermione didn’t look back, she didn’t want to waste another moment. She fled down the stairs and out through the doors, sprinting towards the edge of the wards. She was twisting as she passed through them, landing with a pop outside of Lights. 

She tore in and through the masses of bodies, searching for Neville. She found him, dancing with Hannah. 

“Hannah I’m sorry I need him!”

“Hermione what are you—“ 

“I’m going back to him. But I need to you to not tell anyone. Especially not Ron. Tell Harry if you must… but I have to go. I’ll be back at your place later.”

“Hermione!” Neville grabbed her arm. “Don’t let the aresholes keep you from happiness with him.”

She squeezed his arm, and pushed her way back to the doors and the large fireplaces. She was whisked to the front of the lines, and threw herself back through. 

For once she didn’t trip or stumble, just strode out into the room she’d left less than 15 minutes before, and straight into Lucius’ waiting arms.

She felt like a stretched spring, a violin string that had been strung too tightly; bursting with potential. His touch grounded her and simultaneously made her whole. The ache she’d felt from the first time he’d released her hand lessened, then dissolved into nothingness. 


	11. Return

He folded his arms around her as she collapsed into him, not quite believing that she’d come back. She was so small and soft in his arms, and he pressed his nose into the curls piled high on her crown, breathing deep and slow. He was afraid to move, as if moving would break the spell and she would flee like she had in the Ministry. Her wool cloak was rough against his hands, but he found it somehow grounding, the tiniest amount of discomfort keeping him from dismissing it as a cruel dream. 

She pulled back slightly, and his breath caught. This was it; she’d changed her mind. But she just wiped at her eyes, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she sniffed. “It’s been a hell of a day.” He didn’t have anything to say to that, so he led her to the sofa facing the fireplace, taking his seat and silently hoping she would select the seat next to his. She did, sitting much closer than he thought she’d dare, her leg nearly pressing against his own. He draped his arm over the back of the sofa, and she hesitantly tucked herself into his side. He was sure his heart was thundering loud enough for her to hear, but she didn’t say a word. 

The last time anyone had been this close to him, it had been Cissa. His beautiful, lovely Narcissa. His throat tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the witch now at his side. Her hair and makeup were far more daring than anything he thought she would do, but as the dress belonged to the Parkinson girl, he was fairly certain she was behind the excessive cosmetic application as well. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had a difficult day,” he offered, feeling as if he was being thrown in an ocean without knowing how to tread water. She shook her head, chewing on her lip. 

“What actually happened? How much did you hear?” 

“I caught the last of what you were saying before you turned around. I didn’t want to make things worse by pursuing, and Mr Potter was busy… restraining Mr Weasley. I simply stayed where I was, and waited for the next lift. I had intended to come straight home, but I saw you, and my concern got the best of me. I’ve heard of your friendship with Minerva, and took a chance. Obviously she denied you were there, but...” He trailed off, and she looked up at him, fear clouding her eyes.

“Severus indicated that you were there.”

“Severus.” The fear in her eyes melted away, replaced with anger. Her gaze dropped to the fireplace, a glare securely in place. “He’s dead and he’s still spying, that little—“ 

“He was just trying to help, dear.” He caught himself addressing her as dear a fraction too late, and pressed on, hoping to Salazar he wasn’t going to scare her off before he got a proper chance with her. 

“Once I knew you were safe, I apologized to Minerva, and she proceeded to lecture me like I was her student again. I came home and wrote you an apology, which you didn’t receive in time.” Minerva had essentially told him that Hermione wasn’t Narcissa, and a softer hand would be in order. The woman was infuriating in such that she was nearly always correct. How she’d known of his affections, however, was still a mystery to him.

“You didn’t need to apologise,” Hermione said softly, lifting her eyes from the fire to meet his own. The flames reflected in her brown eyes, enhancing the burning effect.

“Would it be so displeasing if I decided I should regardless?” He cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her cheek softly with his thumb. It was a gamble, but she leaned into his touch, and let her eyes flutter closed. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down, capturing her mouth in a gentle kiss. She melted into him, and his confidence grew. Her breath caught when he flicked his tongue against her sinfully soft bottom lip to taste her, but a second later she was pressing closer for more. He smiled against her lips, and deepened the kiss; tracing her lips with his tongue, he could taste the mint of a sobering solution and the firewhiskey she’d been drunk on. 

Her lips parted, and he let her explore his own lips, letting her take what she wanted on her own terms. When her tongue sought out his own, he renewed his careful, thorough exploration of her mouth. She brought one hand up, sliding it around his neck and tangling in his hair, the other pressed firmly against his chest. He slipped his own hand that had been across the back of the sofa around her waist, pulling her closer. He kissed her and teased her until she was breathless and gasping for air; dizzy himself he pulled back, pressing his forehead to hers. 

Her eyes were still closed, and her breaths were coming in short pants that ghosted across his face.He resumed stroking her cheek until he could see her brown eyes again. 

“Sorry,” she breathed, easing back. He slid his hand from her cheek to her shoulder and down her arm, capturing her hand in his. 

“Don’t be, my dear.”

_ My dear _ . There he went again. This time he didn’t cover it as he had at the restaurant, or rush past it like he had earlier. He watched her carefully for her reaction, and she smiled, leaning back into him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked her head under his chin, his left arm still wrapped around her, his right still holding her hand. 

“I just… I’m here, and all yours… But can we take this slow?” Her face was pressed somewhere in the proximity of his left shoulder, and at first he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right, and he had to suppress a chuckle. 

“I’m afraid I’m a bit old fashioned in those regards, so yes. We’ll take it slow.” She nodded, and he felt her relax into him further. 

It felt odd to be so close to another woman. To have another woman touch him, kiss him, make him feel attractive and important was disconcerting, but not unwelcome. He held her for a while longer, just to feel the weight of her body in his arms, to smell the mint and fruity scent of her hair, and to take the time to let himself believe that she actually came. 

Not only did she face her fears, but she left and returned again. Now he just had to decide how to best deal with Draco. But that would come later. For now he was content to just hold her. So he held her, the minutes ticking by, melting into an hour, then two. The conversation was easy, and it was still all too soon that she was sighing.

“I should go. It’s late, Neville and Hannah will worry,” but she made no move to let go or pull away. Lucius took another gamble. 

“Would you like to come back in the morning for breakfast? We could spend the day here.” It was slow and hesitant, but she nodded, still against his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss into her hair, loosening the hold he had on her. She finally sat back, meeting his eyes, a small smile gracing her lips.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning then. How’s nine?” He wanted to kiss her more, to wrap her in his arms and never let go. So he nodded. 

“Perfect.” She was; her brilliant mind only rivaled by her brilliant smile. 

She stood, but turned back to him after only a couple small steps. He rose to his feet, and she took his hand, pulling him closer. 

“Lucius…” His name on her lips made his heart stutter. “Thank you.” She pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek before turning and disappearing in a roar of green flame. He waited until the green flame was long gone before turning away, making his way to his chambers.

When was the last time he’d been thanked for simply being? When had he last felt needed? Or wanted? 

He wasted no time, stripping out of his robes and stiff shirt and slacks, avoiding the tall mirror leaning against the wall. He slipped into a black silk pajama set, and stood in the doorway for a while, looking over the bedroom. 

He hadn’t changed anything since Narcissa died. Her book was still on the nightstand, her perfume on the dressing table. The sage green sheets were the same ones she’d chosen when she remodeled and redecorated the entire manor after the war ended. His heart ached to think of the last three years without her. 

“Bigsy, can you please pack Lady Narcissa’s things and put them away? I’ll deal with them later.”

“Yes Master Lucius.” The diminutive house elf twisted her hands together. His heart nearly stopped when realized that Bigsy must have been dreading this day as much as he had. Neither of them knew what to do without Narcissa. 

“When Draco returns home tomorrow, tell him I need to speak to him.” 

“Yes Master Lucius.”

“Thank you Bigsy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The tiny house elf smiled widely, pleased with the praise from her normally stern master. He gave her a small smile, and turned away from the room. 

He couldn’t bring himself to return to their bed tonight, so he moved to the next room down, the one they’d dubbed the blue suite due to the dusty blue and gold color scheme. The rooms were just as large as the suite he and Narcissa had called theirs, and he wondered if it would be enough to just move rooms. He fell asleep with the memory of Hermione in his arms. 


	12. Adjustments

December 9, 2006

Hermione woke in her own bed after a far too short night after collecting her things from Neville’s, but practically sprang from it, eager for her day with Lucius. She wasn’t sure the last time she looked forward to something enough to get her out of bed that quickly, but she wasn’t going to think on it too long. 

She took a long shower though, and she left feeling refreshed and blessedly free of the heavy makeup she’d forgotten Pansy had painted her with. She found herself wondering if Lucius had a preference, which was absolutely ludicrous. She wasn’t that person, so if he preferred it, he was out of luck. 

A soft blue dress and charcoal grey robes with low heels had her feeling more presentable, and she paced in front of the fireplace, trying to burn off her nervous energy before stepping through the floo. It didn’t do a bit of good, but at precisely nine, she tossed in a shaking handful of sparkling power into the fireplace. 

Lucius was waiting for her on the other side, looking immaculate in black robes. She greeted him with a soft kiss, flushing slightly at his expression when she pulled away. She usually wasn’t quite so forward with her affections, but after the previous night’s intimate arrangement she couldn’t help herself. 

“Good morning, my dear.” He slipped his arms around her, and kissed her again, this time more solidly. Her head spun when she pulled back, a self-satisfied smirk on Lucius’ face as he straightened back to his full height. “Ready for breakfast?” 

She followed him down massive hallways and the grand marble staircase, anxiety pushing her hunger away. In the daylight, the manor was unrecognizable from the night before or the setting of her nightmares. She had to adjust her expectations as they moved through the massive spaces, from fear and apprehension to appreciation of the graceful decor and clean lines. 

She was still looking around, wide-eyed, when Lucius paused in a doorway. Pale greens and airy light greys had replaced the dark, oppressive space she’d expected. Had she not known precisely where she was, she never would have guessed she was standing in the same manor that she’d been held captive in. 

“Narcissa couldn’t bear to leave anything as it was before the war. She redecorated and remodeled… the drawing room you saw doesn’t even exist anymore.” She could see his anxiety in the tension of his shoulders and his posture, and she tried to calm his fears as he had hers. 

“It’s lovely. Narcissa had excellent taste.” She smiled gently. “Shall we?” Lucius opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, then gave her a curt nod. Hermione wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but she supposed it couldn’t hurt, and she’d been honest. The manor that haunted her dreams was gone.

In the dining room, Lucius pulled a chair out for her, to the left of what she assumed to be his seat at the head of the massive cherry table. She sat as gracefully as she could manage, and watched as he took his own. He didn’t meet her eyes. 

“Lucius. Are you alright?”

“Are you?” He leveled his stare at her, and she was momentarily taken aback. 

“If you had told me last month that I would be here, not just willingly but happily having breakfast with you after being reluctant to leave last night, I probably would have hexed you into the next decade. But as it stands, I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. I think that may qualify as a touch better than ‘alright.”

Lucius gave a rather undignified snort. “So it may. To answer your own question, I’m fine.” His face softened. “I’m just happy you’re here, darling.” Hermione’s answering shy blush was enough to satisfy him, and he motioned to her untouched plate. “Now eat.” 

Hermione didn’t press him, just tucked into the pile of fresh fruit and eggs waiting on her plate. Lucius picked at his own plate, and perused that mornings _Daily Prophet._

“Anything important?” He’d been reading and rereading the same article for several minutes, his expression growing darker with each pass. He flicked the paper closed, folding it neatly and setting it aside. 

“It’s no matter. But I wanted to talk to you before Draco returned home today.”

What was left of her appetite vanished, and she nodded. Dropping her eyes to her hands twisting in her lap, she took a steadying breath. 

“I can imagine he’s not going to appreciate my presence in your life. I understand and I don’t want to impose on any—“

“Hermione. Stop.” Lucius reached out, palm up. She hesitantly placed her hand in his, and he lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “You’re worrying too much. Furthermore, you’re looking at it like a muggleborn.”

“I am a—“

“I know. But listen for just a moment.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “Draco already knows of my feelings.” Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. “And he’s accepted it. My fear is that he’ll try to test you and your intentions.” Hermione finally looked up into his grey eyes. 

“Test me?” She sounded indignant, even to her own ears. 

“He wouldn’t be so brash to challenge you to a duel,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips. “But he’ll be asking questions, watching carefully. I was hoping you’d stay for dinner with Draco and his fiancée, but I would also understand if that makes you uncomfortable.” His silvery eyes were soft, and she dimly realized he was stroking the back of her hand tenderly. 

“I’ll stay. I’ve been dealing with Draco for long enough, and we might as well get it over with.”

“I give you my word, he'll be more diplomatic than Mr Weasley was.” Lucius’ eyes hardened slightly, and Hermione pressed her lips together. “But if you’re done with breakfast, would you like to see the rest of the house? You should know your way around if you’ll be spending more time here.” He stood, helping her from her chair. 

She stopped before he could leave the room, pulling on his hand to turn him to face her. 

“Lucius?” He stopped, an eyebrow raised as she braced both hands on his chest. His hand came up to her back almost automatically, his instinct to protect her stronger after the article he’d read in the Prophet. 

“I know this has been a bit… Well unexpected, if I’m to be honest… but I’m glad that stupid lift got stuck.” Her words, coupled with wide, unguarded brown eyes and her halo of curls left Lucius momentarily speechless. He tried to maintain his usual sense of decorum, but the small hands sliding down his chest and abdomen to circle around to his back in a soft hug made his resolve crumble. 

His arms tightened around the diminutive witch, and she clung to him. He dropped his head to press his nose into her hair. She smelled like raspberries. 

“I am too, my dear.” 

She tipped her head up, and brushed her nose against his, a wordless plea in her shallow breaths. Before he could rethink himself, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted into him and clung closer, her lips working against his, devouring everything he gave her. He pulled back first, brushing her hair back from her face. Narcissa hadn’t ever initiated casual affection, even going as far as shunning it; but it seemed that Hermione didn’t have the same inhibitions. 

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to become accustomed to that.” He smirked at her blush, but pulled back further, appreciating the feeling her hands move from his back to his waist. She definitely didn’t have the same reluctance towards close contact. It would seem she thrived on it; seeking it out at every opportunity. This would be an adjustment, a welcome one, true; but an adjustment nonetheless. 

“Would it be so bad if I thought you should?” Her smirk at using his own sentiment against him reminded Lucius that the woman was sharper and smarter than most, which in turn made her even more captivating. He was going to have his hands full with this one.    
  


***

Lucius lost her attention in the library, which was precisely why he left it for last. He settled into a wingback chair with a cup of tea, and watched her bobbing between the shelves of books, a look of awe on her face. She resurfaced every so often to ask him questions about where something may be located or if he thought one text was more accurate than another, and he was charmed by her inquisitive mind. 

He had a light lunch brought to the library, and had barely gotten her to eat between questions. He was thumbing through a book on various potion uses, while Hermione was lost in the back corner, somewhere in the vicinity of the history section when Draco and Astoria arrived. 

“Master Lucius, Master Draco and Miss Astoria are waiting in the Master’s study,” the blue-eyed house elf squeaked. 

“Thank you Bigsy. Hermione and I will be up shortly.” He stood, smoothing down his robes as the house elf disaperated. 

“Hermione, darling.”

“Hmm?” She sounded distracted, and Lucius turned towards the sound of her voice. He found her in an armchair, a heavy tome on the history of the British Ministry of Magic open on her lap. He smiled. She couldn’t help herself; she was a fighter, and the Ministry was her next battle. 

“They’re back. Are you ready?” She looked up, and then back at the book in her lap. He chuckled at her dilemma. “If you leave it open, the house elves will leave it alone. They only put the closed books back on the shelves.” She set the book aside, and stood. They made it to the door of the library before he realized her hands were shaking. He stopped, a hand on her shoulder. 

“We can do this another time. When it isn’t so new.” His kept his voice low, soothing. She looked up at him, indignant. 

“I’m fine. I can handle Draco.”

“Are you going to break his nose again?” Lucius’ lips curved into a small smile. This time Hermione returned it. 

“Only if he deserves it.” Her frank answer make him laugh, and she smiled even wider. “Lucius, I’m not going to back down now. Come on.” 

“You Gryffindors are incorrigible.”

“And yet, you Slytherins secretly admire us for it.” She reached up and closed her hand around his wrist. Her fingers didn’t make it all the way around, and she pulled it down, entwining their fingers. 

Even after his epiphany that morning, Lucius found himself disconcerted at his own lack of objection after restraining himself from such displays for so long. Pushing it away for later consideration, he let her lead him into the hall, and turned towards his study. 

She let him open the door and move into the room, where he could see Draco standing straight backed, facing the fire with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Astoria lounged in an armchair, her legs thrown over one arm. 

He heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes at his son’s fiancée’s relaxed mannerisms. Draco turned, his eyes flicking past Lucius to land on Hermione, and then a heartbeat later, to their hands. He blinked, obviously confused at the gesture. Lucius pulled her forward, letting go and sliding his arm around her back instead. He hoped that the increased contact would help, but it was hard to tell without giving her away. 

“Draco, Astoria. You remember Hermione.” Lucius felt a surge of satisfaction watching Astoria sit up suddenly, as if she was burned. She seemed confused at the introduction. Draco must not have told her. Interesting. Astoria shot to her feet, her blue eyes wide. 

“Hermione  _ Granger?”  _ She turned to Draco, and raised her voice slightly. “Is this why you were such a prat at my brother’s? And you didn’t tell me?” 

Lucius felt Hermione shrink back against him, but he rubbed her back tenderly, encouraging her to move forward. When Astoria turned back around without an answer from Draco, her expression was…  _ Gleeful? _

A strangled noise escaped Hermione’s throat, and she looked up at him for an explanation. He didn’t have one either, and they both stopped a few feet away. Draco had a definitively sulky expression, and he hung back while his fiancée approached Hermione. 

“I had no idea!” She threw her arms around the other witch, Lucius side-stepping out of her way gracefully. 

“Er… it’s… New.” Hermione awkwardly explained, returning the brief embrace from the taller woman. 

“Well that’s fine! It’s so nice to see you again, it’s been ages!” She stepped back, looking Hermione up and down. 

“Er… I suppose it has. It’s nice to see you again too, Astoria.”

“Tori, lay off. Hello, Granger.” Draco finally tore himself from the fireplace, mirroring Lucius and slipping an arm behind his fiancée’s back. 

“Draco.” Hermione bobbed her head in greeting. Lucius urged her forward, seating himself on the sofa. Hermione took her place to his left. Draco’s mouth tightened, but he took a seat across from them, with Astoria in the chair closest to Hermione. 

Astoria and Hermione talked about their jobs, and after a few minutes, Lucius spoke up. 

“Darling why don’t you and Astoria go down to the dining room and get the wine poured. Draco and I need a moment to speak.” He squeezed her hand as she stood, watching Draco fight a sneer. 

As soon as the door closed behind the two women, Draco snapped. 

“ _ Darling? _ You’ve already got pet names? You’ve got her sitting in Mother’s place. You already show more affection to Granger than you did with your  _ wife!”  _ Draco’s hands were shaking, and his lips were white. 

“Are you quite finished?” Lucius’ voice cut like ice. Draco nodded begrudgingly. “Good. Now let me make myself clear once more. You will be polite to her, and you will not go out of your way to make her uncomfortable. She is welcome here at any time, and if I get so much of a hint that you’re making it unpleasant, you will regret it.” Draco jerked his head in a quick nod; he’d already gotten this speech. 

“Now. Yes. I will call her darling or my dear as I please. She will sit to my left, just as your mother did, because that leaves my wand-hand free. That decision saved your mother’s life more than once, and may save hers. Or did you not see the article in the Prophet today stating that some of our old friends are back in the country and are out for blood?” Draco’s pale face went even more white. 

“That’s right. And Hermione will be a target even without my name attached. So when it becomes public that the Golden Girl Hermione Granger is involved with ex-Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, I will be prepared to defend her at all times. As for showing affection, it was your mother’s preference that I refrain, not mine. 

“You of all people should know how much I loved your mother, Draco. Hermione is not Narcissa, nor will she ever take her place. But Hermione is what I have now, and I appreciate you not making it harder for us to adjust than it already is. You will adapt, or you will stay silent. Understood?” 

He was still pale, but nodded again. “My apologies, Father.” 

“Apology accepted. Now, we’re going to join Hermione and Astoria and have dinner, and we will not mention the article until I have more information.” 

Draco just swallowed the rest of his drink in response, and stalked towards the door. Lucius sighed, but followed. 

In the dining room, they found Hermione and Astoria much more relaxed and chatting about Astoria’s work as a healer at St Mungo’s. Evidently there had been a Healer that had been let go recently amidst some questionable circumstances. Hermione looked up, her eyes asking a silent question. Lucius leaned over, brushing her cheek with a kiss. 

“It’s fine. Relax.” It was barely a breath, but she nodded under the guise of covering a blush. He took his seat, and they settled into dinner. 


	13. Nights

Hermione made it through the rest of dinner feeling significantly less like she was in a wolves’ den. Or snake pit, as it were. She found that Astoria was actually very charming, and not anywhere near as cold as her sister Daphne. She was polite and had perfect manners, as expected from the pure blood lady, but she was also witty and had no qualms about cutting her fiancé down when she saw fit. 

They were lingering over the wine after dessert, laughing over a quip Lucius made over Celestina Warbeck when Astoria looked thoughtfully at Lucius over her wine glass. Her eyes flicked to Hermione, and then she smiled to herself. 

“Draco, honey. We should call it a night. I’m exhausted.” Astoria stroked his shoulder, and Draco nodded. 

“We’ll leave you to it. Will we see you for breakfast?” Draco asked lightly. Draco’s eyes had more blue in them than his father’s did, but not enough to be called blue rather than grey. Hermione smiled. Maybe she was making headway with her former classmate. 

“No, you won’t. I have Sunday breakfast with the Weasleys.” The answer seemed to throw Draco, and even Lucius’ head tilted ever so slightly. “I was an only child, and I took drastic measures to protect my parents during the war… Once it was over, and they learned what I did, they were understandably upset. They never quite forgave me, and we’ve not been on speaking terms for some time. Arthur and Molly have served as my parents more in the last fifteen years than anyone else, and I never miss a family breakfast if I can help it.” She smiled tightly, her throat constricting. 

For a moment, she thought she saw a tear in Draco’s eye, but he blinked and it was gone. “Well. Enjoy your breakfast. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Goodnight Lucius, Hermione. Thank you for dinner.” Astoria gave them both a wide smile, leading the way out of the dining room. 

Lucius reached out the same way that he had that morning, palm up. Hermione took his hand gratefully, desperate to feel something other than the floundering and guilt she felt. 

“Come back to my study. It’s more comfortable.” Lucius swiped his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand, and she nodded, trying not to cry. Lucius stood, but she stayed sitting, all of the sudden needing a moment alone. 

“I’m going to go grab that book from the library, if that’s alright. I’ll meet you in your study.” She didn’t look up. She couldn’t look up. He pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“Good idea. Take your time, my dear.” He left quietly, and Hermione took a deep breath, forcing the tears down. She sat there for some time before wandering down the hall towards the library. Once there, she felt better. The scent of old books and leather grounded her, easing the ache in her chest. 

“Granger.” She jumped, spinning around with her wand already in hand. Draco held his hands up, arching an eyebrow warily, an expression that made him look extraordinarily like his father. She huffed, lowering her wand. 

“Draco.” 

“Jumpy much?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened last time I was in this house? I think it’s justified.” That may have been a low blow, based on pained expression that crossed his face, but she turned on her heel, looking for the nook she’d been reading in before dinner.

“Granger, wait.” She stopped and turned around, resigned to his anger. Draco had his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders rounded. “I just wanted to talk.” 

She looked him over, and nodded. “Okay. Let’s talk.” Draco looked surprised at her ready acceptance, but swallowed hard and went on. 

“Look, I don’t know that we’ve ever had a conversation that I wasn’t taunting you or that wasn’t across a courtroom. When Father told me it was you that had him… Merlin, that had him living again, I didn’t believe it.” He ran a hand through his white-blond hair, looking uncomfortable. 

“And I was prepared to hate you even more than I did in school. For preying on Father, for being a pretentious know it all, for taking my mother’s place.” He took a shuddering breath and looked away from her. She shifted on her feet, unsure of where he was going with this. 

“But I don’t think I could hate you.” Hermione’s mouth dropped open with a small “pop.” He shrugged, looking torn. 

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t have a hard time seeing you in my mother’s chair at dinner, or that it’s easy to hear my father call you darling, but you… Dammit Granger, you make him happy. The last time I remember him telling that stupid Celestina Warbeck joke was before the war.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, feeling exposed. 

“And as much as I hate to say it, you probably understand how much I miss her more than anyone else, even if the circumstances are different.” 

The knot in her throat was back. “You’ll never stop missing her.” Her voice cracked, and her lip trembled. “Sorry.” It was barely more than a whisper. 

Draco swallowed several times before he could speak again. “Anyway. Astoria’s waiting for me. But I’ll see you around, Hermione.” His use of her given name wasn’t lost on her. 

He walked out after grabbing a book from the table, and Hermione went back to wandering around the library. She found the nook, and picked up the heavy volume, running her fingers over the worn leather cover. She took the book, and hurried back to Lucius’ study. 

Piano music was pouring into the hallway, and she stopped in the doorway, the book hugged tightly to her chest. Lucius was at the piano, his long fingers dancing over the keys. The music was different than she heard the night before. It wasn’t sad and melancholic; it was sweetly gentle and almost hopeful. 

Hermione’s throat constricted again, and she slid the still-open book onto a table, silently moving across the room. She reached him, and slid her arms around his shoulders, crossing them over his chest, and burying her face in his neck. He stopped playing, bringing his hands up to hers. The last notes faded away slowly, lingering like the scent of flowers in the air. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting. I just needed…” Her voice broke, and he reached up, putting a hand in her hair. 

“I know. Come here.” Hermione let go, withdrawing her arms as he stood and led her to the same sofa they’d occupied the night before. He pulled her into his lap this time, and her breathing eased as he held her. The inexplicable soothing power of his touch combined with her exhaustion after the last tumultuous week had her nodding off before long.

Lucius held her until after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. He wondered if he was being selfish, but he had missed the feeling of being needed like this, and she was drained, emotionally and physically. 

“Darling, you need to wake up.” His words were silk in her ear, his lips like velvet on her neck. 

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to become accustomed to that,” she mumbled, shuffling back down into him. 

“Are you going to use everything I say against me?” Lucius purred in her ear, rubbing her back with slow, circular motions. 

“Only if you deserve it.” She smiled into his chest, sliding her arm more securely around him. 

“I can have Bigsy prepare a room for you here, if you prefer.” He kept stroking her back, hoping she would say yes.

“It’s not necessary,” she yawned. 

“It doesn’t need to be necessary to be done,” Lucius admonished her lightly. She huffed, but was evidently too tired to argue with him. 

Lucius didn’t say another word until her breathing was deep and even. 

“Bigsy.” The little house elf appeared at his elbow, her luminous blue eyes wide. 

“Yes Master Lucius?”

“Hermione needs a place to stay for tonight. Will you please prepare the blue suite for her? I’ll carry her up, but she’ll need help changing out of her dress. She can wear one of my shirts to sleep in. I’ll be up with her shortly.”

“Yes sir, Master Lucius.”

“Thank you, Bigsy.” 

He held her tightly but gently, standing carefully so he didn’t wake her. The petite witch didn’t even need a featherlight charm to carry comfortably. Narcissa had been slim but much taller, and harder to maneuver. 

Hermione clung to him down the hall and up the stairs, one hand slipping between his shirt and robes, directly over his heart. Lucius took a deep breath, aching to stay with her.

In the blue suite, Lucius laid the witch down in the big bed, intent on letting Bigsy dress her and get to bed himself. Hermione sighed and rolled in the bed, reaching out. Lucius’ throat tightened, and he turned away. 

“Bigsy, will you dress her and let me know when she’s decent? I’m going to go change.” 

Bigsy approached the bed, one of Lucius’ silk pajama tops in hand. He retreated to the next room down, changing quickly.

“Master Lucius, sir?” 

“Yes Bigsy?” 

“The Miss is asking for Master Lucius.”

“Is she awake?”

“No sir, Master Lucius. She is still sleeping.”

In the blue suite, Hermione was restless, crying out softly. His heart broke even more than when he’d asked Bigsy to remove Narcissa’s possessions. He ignored the pain in his leg and fell to his knees by her side, taking her hand. 

“Hermione. Shh. You’re safe.” 

She gasped, her eyes popping open and hands clawing at the sheets. She sat up, tears falling from her eyes and her right hand covering her left forearm as she gasped over and over. Lucius stared down at the smooth, unblemished skin where she pushed up the silk sleeve. 

The realization hit him like a brick wall. 

“ _ Finite _ .” The concealment charm melted away, revealing the angry red letters cut into her skin eight years previously. Lucius swore, and Hermione tried to yank the sleeve down over her arm. 

“No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Hermione, shh.” Lucius rose from his place on the floor, sitting on the bed beside her, pulling her into his chest. 

“I’m sorry!” She sobbed. Lucius internally cursed Bellatrix’s name. His hatred of his sister-in-law had only deepened over the last decade, and he wished for nothing more than to erase any reminder of her from the face of the earth.

“Hermione. I’m sorry for bringing you here. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“No! It happens… it happens anywhere. It wasn’t… it wasn’t just… just being here.” She was gasping again, but leaning into him. He sighed. He had the same kind of dreams, and his hip ached at the thought. “Will… will you stay?” 

Lucius held her tighter, one hand on her back, the other in her hair. “Of course, my dear. Anything you need.” She nodded into his chest, wrapping an arm around his chest, shoulders shaking. He stroked her hair until she calmed, deliberately breathing deep and slow to keep her calm and to keep his temper under control. There was nothing he could do now, except calm her down and keep her safe. 

She stopped crying, and looked up at him. She looked exhausted, and Lucius nudged her gently. She slid over, careful to stay in contact with him. Lucius slid between the sheets, opening his arms wide for her to settle in beside him. She cuddled up, her head on his chest and his arms firmly around her. With a quiet whisper, the candles went out and they were plunged into the black. 

“Nights are the worst.” Hermione’s whisper cut through the darkness, her warm breath ghosting over his chest. 

“I know. But I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again.” She could hear the conviction in his words, and she nodded. 

“I believe you. Thank you, Lucius. For staying.”

“Anything for you, my dear.” She fell asleep with his promise soothing her mind. 


	14. Breakfast

December 10, 2006

Hermione woke up with sun shining on her face. But that couldn’t be right. Her bedroom window faced the wrong way for that. And then there was the matter of the heavy weight draped across her back and the scent she couldn’t place. 

It all came crashing back when Lucius shifted beside her. Oh sweet Merlin and Morgana. She’d slept in the same bed as Lucius Malfoy. She’d fallen asleep with his arms around her and woken up to the same. She had to admit it felt quite nice though, and smelled even better. Sweet and mildly woody, he smelled exotic and comforting all at once.

She opened her eyes to Lucius’ blond hair cascading over the pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful. He looked younger, she thought, without the stresses of his life and past weighing so heavily on his mind. It didn’t erase the twenty five years between them, but she found she didn’t care anyway. Maybe the pure bloods were onto something. 

“Do you always stare this early in the morning?” His eyes were still closed, his voice rough from sleep. 

“Only when I have something so pretty to stare at.” She leaned in and left a lingering kiss on his cheek. 

“Mmm. Good morning to you too, my dear.” Between the term of affection and the silk over gravel sound of his voice, butterflies erupted in her stomach. They went into overdrive when he opened his eyes, pinning her in place with steel. He stretched languidly, and then settled right back to where he’d been, arm securely around her waist.

“What time do you need to leave for breakfast?” 

“Not til nine. Harry has to get Teddy from Andromeda’s…” Hermione paused at the flicker across Lucius’ face. She’d forgotten Andromeda was his sister-in-law, and she didn’t know what kind of terms they were on since Narcissa’s death.

Andromeda and Narcissa had reconnected after the war, but that was the extent of what she knew. Over twenty years of estrangement didn’t heal overnight, and she didn’t know what had happened in the five years they did get. 

“What time is it now?” She looked around for a clock, but he beat her to it. 

“Not quite eight. You have some time.” He reached up, brushing a rogue curl from her face. “Did you want to come back after your visit?” Hermione sat up, her curls sticking up wildly. 

“Do I want to? Absolutely. But depending on what he says, I may end up hexing Ronald, so it’s hard to say when I’ll be done.” Lucius sighed, rolling to his back and she giggled. 

“I promise I can take care of myself. I used to kick his ass in DA duels.” She smiled wistfully. 

“You were quite the formidable opponent even when I faced you. But I don’t want you to feel as if you need to defend me.” He looked up at her, eyes guarded. 

“I’m not defending  _ you, _ I would be defending  _ us.  _ And before you say it, I know it will be an uphill battle, but that’s not going to stop me.” A smile played at his lips.

“And I won’t stop worrying about you, my dear.” 

She reached out, stroking a strand of his hair on the pillow. It was thick and silky in her fingers, and she focused on it to avoid meeting his eyes. 

“I don’t need protection from you, Lucius. I need honesty and transparency, but that’s all.” She said it quite gently, but he understood the warning. 

“You should get ready. I don’t want you to be late.” She nodded, still fingering the lock of silvery-blond hair. She let it fall through her fingers, and leaned over, giving him a quick kiss before throwing herself out of bed on the other side. She quickly disappeared into the bathroom, self conscious of her bare legs under the shirt, even if her dress from Friday had been even more revealing. 

A quick shower in the palatial bathroom and a conversation with Bigsy later, she emerged in a soft green jumper and a knee-length black skirt, sans robes. She’d wrangled her hair into a twist at the nape of her neck, and only bothered with a swipe of mascara and lipstick. Lucius wasn’t in bed, but she hadn’t expected him to be. Bigsy had told her he wanted to speak to her before she left, and he’d be waiting in his study for her. 

Looking around the opulent powder blue and gold room, she felt a twinge of regret. She wasn’t sure if she’d taken advantage of his hospitality by staying, and further by asking him to stay here instead of his own room. 

At that, she looked at the door to the next room down. He’d pointed it out on their tour as his room, but hadn’t opened the door. She was reaching for the handle when she stopped herself, embarrassed that she could be so rude. If he’d wanted her to see it, he would have showed her. She withdrew her hand, and hurried back down the hall, completely unaware of the blue eyes that followed her.

In Lucius’ study, Hermione found him at his desk, quill flying across a piece of parchment, a displeased look on his face. 

“Lucius? What’s wrong?” Even from across the room, she could feel his icy anger. She could see the muscles in his jaw working as he fought to push it down. 

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing.” She approached carefully, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned into it, his fury reducing from a rolling boil to a simmer. 

“It’s not nothing, but it’s nothing you need to worry about either. I just need to go in and speak to the Minister about it tomorrow.”

“What does Kingsley want?” She brushed his hair away from his shoulders to rub the tense muscles. His pale hair and smooth skin against the black of his robes made the prettiest contrast. She pressed a kiss to the stretch of skin when he didn’t answer. 

“Please don't block me out,” she pleaded softly. 

“I need more information before I say anything, dear. Go have breakfast, talk to your friends. But come back to me.” She didn’t like the answer but she acquiesced. 

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be back,” she warned. 

“I don’t mind if it’s two in the afternoon or two in the morning.” He kissed the hand still on his shoulder. “I just want you with me.” 

“Alright. I’ll be back later then. Though if I keep this up, my cat is going to rebel.” His face was still out of sight, and she didn’t see the look in his eye before he pushed it away. He lifted his chin for one last kiss before she stepped through the floo to the Burrow. 

Molly, Fleur, and George’s wife Angelina were in the kitchen, and she greeted them warmly. 

“Is Harry here yet?” She considered asking about Ron, but decided against it until she’d had a chance to talk to Harry or Ginny first. 

“He’s in the sitting room, dear.” Molly ushered her out of the kitchen, and she found Harry and Ginny alone, Teddy’s laugh spilling from the dining room with some of the others. He tossed up a silencing charm, and as she sat down, she debated how much to tell them.

Harry was furious; but not at Hermione. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he grumbled after a moment. 

“What happened in the lift?” She didn’t bother with niceties. 

“You took off, I barely caught him before he hexed Malfoy, and then I spent the next hour trying to talk him down. Petty from the Floo Authority let us know you went to Hogwarts and Ron went after you. Of course  _ I  _ had to go after him and Minerva thought it was great fun to let me turn him into a weasel. 

“And then I got to spend the rest of the day with Kingsley up my ass because Ron acted against my orders, and nearly attacked a sitting Lord, all while there's an international incident happening. Not to mention I later find out that you were out with Nev and Hannah, but disappeared halfway through the night! I’m going to lock you and that new Hogwarts Matron in a fucking cell until this is all over.” 

“I told you she’d show up though.” Ginny looked unsurprised at her husband’s ranting and her friends appearance. “He thought you wouldn’t come. But let me guess. You were being wined and dined by the illustrious Lord Malfoy.” 

“Don’t forget getting to face his son and his future daughter-in-law,” Hermione deadpanned. 

“Oh shit.” Harry and Ginny’s eyes both went wide. 

“Oh yeah. That was a fun dinner, let me tell you. At first I thought they were going to eat me alive. Also, why are they all so damn tall? Is it some kind of freak pureblood mutation?” Ginny snorted at Hermione’s benign irritation. 

“So you made it out of the snake pit. But are you going back?” Harry looked ill. 

“Don’t be daft. Of course she’s going back.” Hermione hadn’t expected Ginny to be so solidly on her side, but she welcomed the ally wholeheartedly. 

“I told him I’d be back when I was done here.” 

“But…” Harry looked conflicted. 

“But nothing. You’re going to play nice because she likes him, and my brother is being a prat enough for all of us.” Ginny glared in the direction of the dining room.

“He’s here then?” Hermione had hoped that maybe Harry had given him an assignment to keep him out of the way.

“Yeah he’s here. Mum and Dad both threatened to hex the hell out of him if he misbehaves though.” Ginny glanced at her husband. 

“So Arthur and Molly know about Lucius.” Hermione’s stomach knotted. She didn’t want to hide anything, but she’d rather it had come from her. 

“We couldn’t really keep a lid on it, with Ron raving like a lunatic,” Harry muttered apologetically. “They’re okay with it now, though. After Molly talked Arthur ‘round.” 

“After I talked Mum ‘round first, you mean,” Ginny huffed. 

“Well… That too.” Harry pushed a hand through his already messy hair. “But I don’t think anyone else knows yet. You can tell them all when you’re ready.” Hermione nodded. That was a relief. 

“Come sit down, you lot,” Angelina called into the room. They took their places at the table, Hermione sandwiched between George and Ginny, with Bill, Percy’s wife Audrey, and Percy across the table from her. Ron sat as far away as possible, looking disgruntled. Besides a few furtive glances from Arthur and Molly, nobody said anything until breakfast was nearly over.

And then George asked rather loudly, “So Hermione! Tell us who you’re dating that has ickle Ronniekin’s knickers in a twist.” The chattering died down, and all eyes fell to her, except Ron’s, whose were on the sausage he was mutilating with his fork. 

Arthur and Molly looked panicked, and Ginny gave her a look that clearly said, “Here’s your moment of truth.” Hermione braced herself, thinking that she hadn’t been put in Gryffindor for nothing. She aimed for breezy, but thought it came out more strangled than not.

“Lucius Malfoy.” 

The silence was deafening, until George started to laugh. 

“That’s a good one, ‘Mione.” A few of the others chuckled, until they realized she, Ginny, Harry, Arthur and Molly weren’t laughing. George blinked at her, and Percy’s jaw was halfway to his plate. 

“Bloody hell. Really? Not just any Malfoy, but  _ Lucius Malfoy? _ ” George looked around the table for confirmation. The silenced stretched out again, punctuated by the children’s laughter from the table in the kitchen.

“I can’t say I approve of his methods but there was that thing with that American muggle a few years back…” Arthur looked vaguely disgusted with himself to admit Lucius wasn’t all bad. 

“And he’s actually passed some really decent legislation for the protection of muggleborns since then…” Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

Hermione watched as each of the Weasleys grappled with the news, the silence blanketing the table again. So far no yelling, no curses or hexes being thrown, or even threatened. This was going far better than expected. 

“You’ve got to admit, he’s got fantastic hair.” Angelina finally offered, which got vigorous nods from Fleur and Ginny, contemplative nods from Bill and Audrey, and a horrified look from Percy and George. Hermione broke, and giggled.

“He does have great hair.” A blush settled across her cheeks, and Ginny grinned.

“I mean I wouldn’t say no to a man that can clear out the best restaurant in Diagon Alley for a date, either.” She turned to Harry, “I mean, if you were looking for ideas…” 

Harry chuckled and asked, “‘Mione, do you think he could get me an in?” 

The tension was quickly dissolving now, and she relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She chanced a glance at Ron, whose sausage was unrecognizable now. Well, some things couldn’t be helped. He would come around eventually. Hopefully. 

She helped Molly, Audrey, and Angelina clear the table, as Fleur was comforting Victoire who was crying because Teddy had scared her by turning his nose into a large crow’s beak. In the kitchen, the three women cornered her, wanting to know how, why and when this had all happened. She explained in general terms, leaving out her night in bed with him, however innocent it may have been. 

Between the four witches, the dishes were done in record time and they dispersed. Hermione lingered in the kitchen, looking out over the snow-covered grove of trees that hid the space they used to play quidditch, wondering if Ron would ever try to get her on a broom again, or if he’d ever forgive her. 

Someone cleared their throat, and Hermione jumped, turning to find Audrey lurking in the doorway. 

“Sorry!” She stepped in closer, and lowered her voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just…” She glanced back at the empty door. “I didn’t want to ask with the others around. I was just wondering…” She pulled her light brown hair away from her face, and Hermione saw her hands shake. “He was at the trial… Was he…?” 

Hermione’s heart broke for her. Audrey’s youngest sister Hazel had been murdered by her boyfriend, Walden Macnair Jr, a year and a half before. He’d held on to his father’s Death Eater ways, and had killed Hazel, a pure-blood, for defending her best friend, who was a muggle-born.

“Lucius was trying to ensure he was tried for a hate crime on top of the other charges,” Hermione told her softly. “He was trying to get justice for Hazel.” She didn’t add that he hadn’t been successful, hoping that Audrey hadn’t paid close enough attention to know what he’d been convicted of. Audrey nodded, and gave Hermione a small, sad smile. 

“Will you tell him thank you for me?” Her voice wavered, and Hermione blinked back tears of her own. 

“Of course.” Audrey nodded, and retreated back towards the sound of a series of explosions and Percy’s shouts. Hermione remained in the kitchen a while longer, until she decided to rejoin Harry and Ginny who roped her into an exploding snap tournament.

She ended up staying significantly longer than anticipated, Molly convincing her to stay for lunch as well, and by the time she was stepping through the floo back to Malfoy Manor, it was after two, and she was anxious to return to Lucius’ side. The realization was an odd one, as she’d never felt that pull in a relationship; not that she’d been in many. She’d always been fiercely independent, but somehow she didn’t feel like Lucius negated her independence. She pushed the thoughts aside as she stepped into his study. 


	15. Strategy

His study was empty, and she paused, looking around for a hint as to where he may be. His desk was cleared, so she didn’t think that he would be back anytime soon. 

“Bigsy?” She crossed her fingers that the house elf wouldn’t be offended that she was summoning her. 

“Yes miss?” The house elf certainly didn’t look upset to be called, but Hermione still felt a twinge of guilt. 

“Do you know where Lucius is? Or if he’s busy, I can come back later…” She felt awkward just dropping in as she pleased.

“Master Lucius is in the library. He would like Miss to join him as soon as Miss returned!” Her big blue eyes blinked up at Hermione, her excitement bubbling over. 

“Okay. Thank you, Bigsy.” She beamed at the witch before disaperating. Hermione glanced in one of the large mirrors on the wall, smoothing some of the tendrils of hair that had escaped back into the twist again. She stopped, looking hard at her reflection. 

She wasn’t sure what a man like Lucius saw in her, especially after being married to a woman like Narcissa for nearly thirty years. She couldn’t be farther from his late wife. Maybe that was the appeal for him, and it wasn’t Hermione at all. She bit her lip, and looked away from the mirror, pushing through the door, into the hall. 

The halls were quiet, the murmuring of the family portraits muted, and Hermione couldn’t help but think how lonely this house must be for Lucius with Narcissa gone and Draco and Astoria flitting in and out all the time. The library door was cracked, and she slipped through, hoping not to disturb him if he was busy. It looked deserted inside, and she knew if she tried to find him on her own, there was a very real possibility she would be lost for hours and never actually find him.

“Lucius?” A heartbeat, then two, and no answer. She called out again, slightly louder. “Lucius?” 

“Back here, darling.” His silky voice floated from her left, and she followed it, until she caught sight of him in a black leather armchair. 

“I need a map if you’re going to keep--” She fell silent as she drew closer and another man came into view. He was sitting in a matching chair across from him a large chess board. “I’m sorry.” She flushed. “I didn’t know you had company.” 

“Don’t apologize on my account. How are you, Ms Granger?” Anthony Fairview smiled warmly at her, extending his hand. 

“Fine, thank you, Mr Fairview. And yourself?” She shook it firmly, quickly retreating to Lucius’ side. Lucius reached up to catch her other hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles in a gentle greeting. 

“I would be better if Lucius here was worse at chess, but otherwise I can’t complain.” Anthony Fairview had an easy smile, his deep blue eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners. His tan skin and sun-bleached hair made her wonder if he spent much of his time outside of Britain, but she didn’t know the man well enough to know or ask. His hair was streaked with grey at the temples, and Hermione guessed he had five or so years on Lucius. 

“Does that mean you didn’t need to hex anyone at breakfast?” A smile played at Lucius’ lips, and she shook her head. 

“He stayed quiet, and the rest of them took it rather well. At least no wands were raised this time. But I didn’t mean to interrupt your game,” she reiterated, squeezing Lucius’ hand gently. His grey eyes were soft, his body language relaxed. Obviously Anthony Fairview was a friend; one that he felt comfortable enough with to let his guard down around. 

“Nonsense, my dear.” He waved his wand, a third chair floating into view and sliding into place on his left. “Stay.” It was an invitation, not a command, and she accepted the chair, releasing his hand.

“I have to commend your work at the school, Ms Granger. My son speaks very highly of you,” the man across the board said, his eyes flicking over their game.

“Please call me Hermione.” She felt out of her depth. “And Axios is far too kind.” 

“Then I insist you call me Anthony.” He smiled, glancing up. He ordered his bishop forward, and sat back. “If my son is anything, it’s a good judge of character, so I tend to believe what I hear from him.” 

Axios Fairview was the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, after a five year tenure as an Auror alongside Harry and Ron. Between five years with Harry and two and a half with Minerva, she’d met him many times and liked him immensely. His father shared his easy-going personality and she was inclined to like him as much as she did his son. 

“Not to mention the rave reviews I’ve been getting from Lucius here,” he teased lightly. 

Lucius rolled his eyes, commanding a pawn forward. Hermione pulled her legs up underneath her, leaning closer to Lucius in the process. Lucius evidently understood Hermione’s need for proximity, because he reached over, lacing his fingers through hers without taking his eyes from the board.

Anthony and Lucius made their next several moves in quick succession, and Hermione was reminded of countless chess games she’d watched Harry and Ron play over the years. She’d usually had her nose in a book, but she knew enough to know that they were both skilled players, adapting their strategies fluidly. 

“Granger!” 

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, Lucius grunting softly as she yanked his hand toward her.

“Fuck!” Her profanity earned her amused looks from both of the men at the chess board, and a snicker from Draco. “I told you to stop doing that!” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Draco held both hands up in surrender as he drew closer. Lucius stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and Hermione belatedly loosened her grip. He watched her closely, not missing the way she pressed her left forearm against her abdomen. 

“Draco, did you have a purpose behind scaring our guests?” Lucius’ icy glare was wasted on his son. 

“I only meant to ask if you’d kept up on your Ancient Runes,” he directed at Hermione. 

She looked offended. “Of course I have. Aurora would never let me live it down if I didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?” 

“Because Tori might kill me if I ask her to look this over again, and spoiler alert, Father will win.” 

Hermione glanced at Lucius. A small smile played at his lips, and he inclined his head slightly. “He’s most likely correct on both counts. Go ahead, I know you’re already dying of curiosity.” Anthony snorted, and Lucius turned his unwavering gaze to his friend. “I have you in check mate in four moves.” Anthony surveyed the board, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Dammit, Lucius. Rematch?” Lucius smirked, but nodded. Anthony was instructing the pieces to reset, and Lucius leaned over to kiss Hermione softly. Draco looked away pointedly. 

“Go on. We’re not going anywhere.” She nodded, and slid out of her chair, following Draco into what looked like a classroom off the main library. 

“Honestly I wanted to see if he was going to warn you over your language,” he smirked as he shut the door behind them. “Evidently he thinks it’s cute when  _ you  _ swear.” Hermione cracked a smile at that. “And Father and Anthony have been playing for years. Father wins 80% of the time... I don’t know why Anthony keeps coming. Axios and I are at least evenly matched, though he hasn’t been around much since the start of the term.” 

Draco pointed to where several large pieces of parchment were pinned to the wall. She moved closer, her eyes following some of the undulating runes. 

“I didn’t know you knew Axios,” she murmured, comparing the runes to Draco’s translations.

“We got to know each other when I was dating Rose eighth year. It’s actually when Father and Anthony reconnected... They were on the Board together, and they were in the same class at Hogwarts, though Anthony’s a Ravenclaw like Axios.” Hermione paused. 

“They’re the same age?” 

Draco snorted. “We Malfoys age well, or so I’m told.” Hermione went pink, but didn’t respond. She tapped a rune. 

“You translated this as flower, but I know I’ve seen it translated somewhere as a rose, specifically… There was a paper published in one of the journals talking about it.” Draco noted it in red ink. Hermione belatedly realized the numerous shades of ink covering the sheets with the translations. 

“Why the different colors?” 

“Hmm?” Draco turned from the notation he made. “Oh it was the easiest way to keep track of who translated what. When it was just me and Rose, it was easy enough, but once we started adding others, it got complicated fast.” He flipped through a sheaf of papers, and pulled one out, adding Hermione’s name in red under a list of names, each a different ink color. Draco, Rose, Aurora, Astoria, and even Lucius had their own color of ink listed.

“How long have you been working on this?” 

“Aurora brought Rose and I on our eighth year. We’ve all been working on it on and off since then. Our strategy was initially divide and conquer, but I’m thinking we need to look at it another way.” He gave her a smile. “And I’ve heard you like to be challenged.”

Hermione read through the runes and translations once, dictating a few changes to Draco as she went. After the first read through, she tapped one of the sheets. 

“Can I get a copy of this? And a copy of Spellman’s?” Draco duplicated it with a tap of his wand, and pulled a copy of the  _ Syllabary  _ out from under a stack of parchment, handing them both over. She snatched a self-inking quill from the desk, leaving the room. 

“Wait! Where are you going?” Draco threw his hands up as she walked away, trailing after her. 

“I do better on puzzles when I have something else in the background. So unless you’re going to put on a one-man show, I’m going back to the chess game.” Draco scoffed, but let her go. Lucius looked vaguely surprised when she reappeared, sliding into the chair at his side. 

“That was fast,” he murmured. She just smiled, tucking her legs under herself and opening the book on her lap. Lucius and Anthony kept playing, and Hermione settled into the familiar role, half listening to the two men, half focused on the runes in front of her. The sheet she’d chosen was the one that she thought had made the least amount of sense, the lines more disjointed and scattered than the others. 

“...Cassia and I are making a holiday out of it, since we’ll be there for Christmas.”

“I trust you’ll be back for the New Years’ Ball?” 

“We wouldn’t miss it. Axios told Cassia he’d be bringing that girl he’s been talking about for the last decade. She’s the new matron at the school.” 

“Astoria was saying someone she knew had taken that position. About time, too. How long has Poppy Pomfrey been gone now?” 

“Poppy retired as Draco, Axios, and I left.” Hermione didn’t look up, scribbling furiously across the parchment. She glanced up in time to see Anthony looking at her with an eyebrow raised, and Lucius smirking.

“She can multi-task after all,” he purred, and Hermione gave an indignant huff, going back to her book.

“You’re distracting, it wasn’t my fault.” Hermione shot back. 

Lucius calmly ordered his queen to move, and smoothly slipped his arm around the back of her chair, twisting an escaped curl around one long finger. She ignored him, flipping through the book, pausing over a rune. She wrote down a word in the corner, underlining it with a question mark. 

“So do you know the new matron?” Hermione waited for Lucius to respond until it dawned on her that Anthony was speaking to her. 

“Vivienne?” She glanced back up, and Anthony nodded. “Er… Not well. She’s technically not a professor so I don’t interact with her directly very often. I’ve only met her in passing a few times... She seems nice enough. Minerva and Neville both speak pretty highly of her.” Hermione tapped the tip of her quill against a corner of her parchment.

“Does Draco know her?” 

“Do I know who?” Draco meandered in, tossing an apple in the air, stopping opposite Hermione, behind Anthony. 

“Vivienne Beaulieu,” Hermione murmured, scratching out a line of text on the parchment. 

“Ehh. I brushed shoulders with her a few times, but I don’t know her well. Astoria trained at Mungo’s with her though, and really liked her. She was gutted when she took the job at Hogwarts…” He took a bite out of the apple and shrugged. 

Anthony sighed. “That’s basically all I’ve gotten out of anyone. She seems nice but they don’t know her well. She seems to be a bit of a puzzle.”

“Well she probably doesn’t want her name out there at the moment. It’s hard enough being a muggleborn without having the Death Eater name attached.” Hermione visibly cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. “Sorry I didn’t—“

“It’s fine, darling. We know what you meant.” Lucius swiped his thumb over her shoulder soothingly. 

“Wait, I must’ve missed something. What Death Eater name?” Anthony’s eyebrows drew together, and Draco’s crunching slowed to a stop. Hermione clenched her jaw, and Lucius sighed.

“The Macnair case I worked on last year?” Anthony nodded, and Lucius paused, a look of disgust passing over his features. “The Harlow girl was her friend. It’s believed that the Beaulieu girl is the one she was defending when she died.” 

Anthony sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Poor thing… I can’t imagine.” 

Hermione went still, and Lucius resumed rubbing her shoulder softly. Draco took another bite of his apple, the crack making her jump slightly. Lucius eyed her carefully, and then glanced over the board at Anthony. 

“Shall we continue this next week, Anthony? We don’t seem to be making much progress.” 

The other man looked up, obviously distracted by the information he’d been given.

“I think we’d better. Cassia will be expecting me home…You know how she gets, this close to a big event.” He and Lucius stood, shaking hands over the chess board. Lucius walked Anthony out of the library, Hermione watching them go. They made an odd pair, she thought, but she supposed it didn’t matter much. She admired the blond man until they disappeared around a corner, and Draco took Anthony’s deserted chair. 

“Well?” He looked expectantly at her, taking another bite of the apple.

“Well what? Did you expect me to solve it all in the course of an hour?” She snapped the book shut, trapping her translation between the pages and out of sight. With Lucius gone, she felt as if her nerves were on fire, on the edge of yelling or crying, and she wasn’t sure which. Draco huffed through his nose. 

“Anything is better than nothing.” He leaned back in the chair, contemplating her. 

“You can wait for it to be done correctly, then.” She watched for Lucius’ return out of the corner of her eye, anxious for his steady presence, but it was several minutes before he returned; several minutes of Draco’s apple chomping and several minutes of Hermione’s thoughts swirling around her mind too quickly to grab onto any one. 

She’d woken up truly rested this morning for the first time in a long time; she didn’t realize what that would mean. She’d become accustomed to being so consistently exhausted for so long, and now that she’d been granted some rest, her mind and emotions were running wild. 

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. Like before, his touch grounded her, and the ache she felt without him faded. An expression suggesting that Draco felt disoriented flashed across his face, and he stood, nodding to them both before leaving without a word. 

“Darling.” The pronounced affection in Lucius’ voice had her composure crumbling, and she was afraid to move. He moved around, dropping to one knee in front of her chair so they were more or less level. He set the book aside, and took both of her hands in his. She stared at them mutely, unsure if her voice would work. “Hermione, look at me.” 

She brought her eyes up, hovering somewhere between uncertainty and panic. His silver eyes probed hers, his grip on her hands tightening. 

“What’s wrong?” She dimly registered that her hands were shaking, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I think it’s just been a lot.” She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. “This week has been a lot.” It came out in a whisper. He didn’t move, and she went on. 

“I don’t know what it is, but my emotions are all over the place. I’m not usually this much of a train wreck.” She opened her eyes, and a tear escaped. He brushed it away gently, his face impassive. 

She looked down at her hands, still grasping his, suddenly embarrassed by her raging emotions. Surely Narcissa hadn’t fallen to pieces like this over nothing. Narcissa had been a picture of poise at all times, and now Lucius was having to deal with her crying at every turn. He was quiet for far too long, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Bigsy.” Lucius’ command made her cringe. He was going to have the house elf aparate her home, rather than let her cry all over his mansion. 

“Yes sir, Master Lucius?” The house else appeared at his elbow, her bright smile faltering at Hermione’s obvious distress. 

“Will you please draw a bath in the blue suite for Hermione? Something soothing. Lavender, maybe.” Hermione’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “She’ll up in a few minutes. Thank you.” The house elf bobbed and was gone before the fresh tears spilled down Hermione’s cheeks. 

“I… You don’t… It’s not…” Hermione couldn’t get the words out, confusion further clouding her mind. 

“Hermione, listen to me.” Even she couldn’t fight the commanding tone of voice he used, and she fell silent. 

“In the space of a week, we’ve essentially turned our worlds around. You have unfortunately had to bear the brunt of whatever pushback there is, and had to change your way of thinking about multiple issues.” His voice and eyes softened, and she dared to hope that he wasn’t going to send her away. 

“I came into this knowing who you are and what you stand for. You didn’t have that luxury. So on top of accepting that I am not what you believed, you’ve turned around and defended me to the people you care most about in this world.” He reached up, brushing more tears away. 

“You have every right to feel the way you do. Don’t think that I will think any less of you for it, or that I will not do everything in my power to ease whatever doubt or fear you may have.” She dissolved into sobs, and he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. 

She cried over his generosity and his polite requests to the house elf, his pretty words and the crashing realization that this was his way of caring for her. She cried even harder when she realized that it had been less than a week and he was already giving her more care and concern than any of the other men she had dated, combined. She cried when she wondered how she’d gotten herself to the point that one night’s sleep managed to upend everything.

He smoothed down her hair, waiting for her cries to quiet. He’d thought a great deal about it over the last few days, and had come to the conclusion that her emotional state was every bit as much his responsibility to care for as the rest of her, and he wasn’t going to leave her to fend for herself as he had the first night she’d come to him. If he was thrown in the ocean, he was going to learn to swim for her. 

Minerva had been right. He needed to be softer for Hermione than he’d been for Narcissa. Narcissa had been raised as he had; emotions were to be hidden and suppressed, lest they be used against oneself. Hermione had the courage to show her emotions, and he wasn’t going to try to curb that in her, not that he thought he could change her even if he wanted to. 

“Go take a bath. When you’re done, we can have a quiet evening together.” He pressed a kiss into her hair, and she nodded. 

“Thank you, Lucius.” She said it into his chest, and his throat tightened. 

“You are most welcome, my dear.” 

She pulled back, meeting his eyes and reaching up to cup his jaw with both hands. She kissed him softly at first, but he deepened the kiss quickly, her fingers knotting in his hair. Her desperation to be closer to him drew him in, his arms tightening around her and his tongue flicking out to taste her. 

Her breaths came in pants and she was trying to press her body closer to his with little success until he chuckled and withdrew. 

“Now that you’ve been properly kissed, you should go have that bath.” He punctuated it with one last kiss to the tip of her nose. She sighed. 

“You are way too good at that.” He chuckled again, and braced his hands on the arms of the chair on either side of her. He groaned. 

“I’m also too old to be kneeling on the floor for extended periods of time.” He hauled himself up, wincing as he settled back on his feet. Hermione narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down, as if whatever ailed him would manifest itself to her. He shook his head. That was a story for later. 

“Go on, darling. When you’re done, I’ll be in my study.” She stood much more easily than he had, and she rose on her toes for another brief kiss before leaving him. 

He watched her go, waiting for her to disappear from sight before dropping into the chair with a pained grunt. 

“Bigsy.” The house elf appeared at his elbow again. “Hermione is on her way up to the bath. Make sure she’s comfortable, take her up some wine and chocolates, or anything else she has a taste for. When she’s settled, bring me a pain potion and my cane, please.” 

“Yes sir, Master Lucius.” She looked up at him, worry scrunching her face. 

“Hermione first, Bigsy. I’ll be fine for a few minutes.” She didn’t look convinced, but didn’t dare disobey her master. 

He stayed where he was, taking slow, deep breaths. What was probably only ten minutes felt like hours before Bigsy reappeared with a vial of viscous orange potion and his serpentine cane. He swallowed the potion, and waited several moments for the searing pain in his left leg to fade before attempting to stand again, leaning heavily on the cane. 

Emerging from the library, he was nearly knocked off balance by Astoria, who was rushing past, her lime green Healer’s robes askew, her hair a mess. She must have just ended her shift at St Mungo’s to look so unkempt. She skidded to a stop when she saw his pained expression. 

“Lucius, what happened?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He straightened, but his breath caught. Astoria looked torn, obviously unsure if she should believe him or if she should do something. 

“Astoria, I’ve been managing for longer than you’ve been breathing. Go.” His tone was final, and she assented, despite looking unconvinced. She glanced back a few times as she continued down the hall towards the office Draco had laid claim to after his mother died. 

He waited until she disappeared through the door before painstakingly made his way to his own study on the second floor. The stairs took significantly longer, and by the time he reached the top, he was gritting his teeth and breathing hard. 

In his study, he sat preemptively on the sofa, stretching his leg out and sighing. He didn’t relish the thought of what Hermione would say when she realized what he hadn’t told her. 


	16. Messages

Hermione slipped into the massive tub, the hot water feeling marvelous against her frazzled nerves. The silky foam that floated on top of the water smelled like fresh lavender, and something sweeter. Hermione trailed a finger through it, drawing shapes in the bubbles. 

“Master Lucius asked Bigsy to bring this for the Miss.” A glass of red wine and a plate of chocolates hovered over the water within reach. “Is there anything else the Miss might like to eat or drink?” Hermione smiled at the thoughtful gesture. 

“No thank you, Bigsy. This is wonderful.” She took a sip of the wine, sinking further into the bath. 

“Would the Miss like Bigsy to wash the Miss’s hair? Mistress Narcissa found it most relaxing.” 

Hermione froze. Of course the house elf would have known and served Narcissa. She deliberated for a moment, hoping her question wasn’t rude.

“Bigsy, how well did you know Narcissa?” Hermione watched her blue eyes fill with tears. 

“Bigsy served Mistress Narcissa since the fall of the Dark Lord. Bigsy was Mistress Narcissa’s personal house elf.” She sniffed. “Mistress Narcissa was a wonderful Mistress. Bigsy misses Mistress Narcissa very much.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m sorry, Bigsy. I’m sure she appreciated you. I know Lucius does.” 

“That is very kind of Miss.” Bigsy looked somewhere between embarrassed and pleased at the praise. 

“Bigsy…” Hermione paused. “Does Lucius ever talk about Narcissa?” 

“Master Lucius speaks of Mistress Narcissa rarely. Master Lucius had Bigsy pack Mistress Narcissa’s things and put them away, and has not spoken of Mistress Narcissa since.”

Hermione’s throat tightened. “I can wash my own hair. But thank you.” 

“Please call Bigsy if the Miss needs anything.” She smiled shyly, and added, “Bigsy thinks the Miss is a fine Mistress.” She disapparated before Hermione could object to being called her mistress. 

She’d accepted that most house elves genuinely liked serving, and she had come to terms with it as long as they were paid fairly and treated well, but she was uncomfortable with being a mistress to one. _Especially_ in a household that wasn’t hers. 

She laid back in the tub, mulling over what the house elf had revealed about Narcissa; or rather, what she’d revealed about Lucius. It didn’t particularly surprise her that he didn’t speak about his late wife often, but at the same time she wondered if he would ever open up to her. 

She stayed in the tub until her fingers and toes were pruney and the water started to cool. She washed her hair quickly, and was pleased to find the towels laid out had a warming charm applied. Bigsy had even gone by her flat and picked a soft dress and robes to change into. The green dress wasn’t one she wore often as the soft fabric tended to cling to her like a second skin, but the soft grey robes were one of her favorite sets, and the effect was nice, if not very Slytherin-esque. 

She charmed her hair dry after working a hair potion through it, and her curls actually fell quite nicely, all traces of frizz gone. Whatever potion it was, it was probably expensive, and she needed her own bottle ASAP. She made a mental note to ask Bigsy later, but she was more focused on returning to Lucius for the time being. 

Taking her wine glass, she slipped down the hall and into Lucius’ study. He was stretched out on the sofa, a wine glass floating within reach of his right hand, a book propped open in his lap. 

He glanced around when the door opened, and she was met with an approving nod. 

“You look lovely, my dear. Do you feel better?” 

She nodded as she folded herself into his side, his left arm coming securely down around her. 

“Much. Thank you again for arranging it.” She smiled up at him, her stomach flipping at his return smile. “What are you reading?” She peered down at the book in his lap. 

“Sherlock Holmes?” She giggled, recalling Neville’s grievance that Draco was a bit too much like the literary detective for his liking. 

“Mm. Mr Longbottom thought I might find it diverting.”

“And what do you think?” Hermione was curious to hear if he enjoyed the stories as much as she did. 

“He’s quite brilliant, though the good doctor could use some of Mr Holmes’ Slytherin sensibilities.” Lucius smirked at Hermione’s look of shock. 

“Mr Holmes would most certainly be a Ravenclaw,” Hermione insisted.

“Perhaps. But we can agree Doctor Watson to be a Gryffindor.” Lucius set the book aside to better confront the witch at his side. 

“Oh absolutely. Definite Hufflepuff tendencies, but overall…”

They continued to sort literary heroes into their respective houses, not even noticing when Draco opened the door to slip the copy of  _ Spellman’s Syllabary  _ onto the table inside the door, pausing to listen. 

“Mr Darcy is hands down, no question a Slytherin,” Hermione was giggling, Lucius responding with a full laugh. 

“Colonel Brandon is most certainly a Gryffindor, though both of their respective leading ladies were Ravenclaws, I think.” 

“You just say that because you like them.” 

“Perhaps, but I don’t think it’s inaccurate.” 

They fell silent, and Draco backed slowly away from the door, deciding it was far better for his mental health to not overhear whatever they spoke about in private. He had a certain mental image of both his father and his former schoolmate that did  _ not _ , under  _ any _ circumstances, need to change. 

“Did you say you were going to be at the Ministry tomorrow?” Hermione looked up at him, his lips curving into a small smile. She was using her fingertip to trace small shapes and patterns over his left thigh. 

“I did indeed.” 

“Do you know what time?” She smiled coyly back at him.

“I do not, unless there is a time you’d like me to be.” He was dragging his fingers slowly through her hair in return, making her shiver at irregular intervals and smiling each time he felt her react to his touch. 

“Maybe we could do lunch?” She sounded hopeful, and he briefly wondered if she knew that he would do very nearly anything under the sun that she asked him to. 

“Of course, darling.” He paused, his hand still in her hair. “Are you ready for the world to know?” 

“I’ve already told anyone that matters, and we’ve established I don’t care what the world thinks.” She froze. “Are you ready?” 

He resumed combing his fingers through her hair. “I am ready to do whatever makes you happiest my dear. I will tell the entire world myself, or keep the world from knowing.” She smiled, smoothing her palm over his leg, as if she was smoothing out sand she’d drawn in. 

“I don’t think either is strictly necessary… We don’t have to flaunt it, but we don’t have to hide it either… We’ll just see how it goes.” She leaned into his side, and he hummed. 

“There is the matter of the annual New Years’ ball…” Lucius paused. 

“What about it?” Hermione tipped her head back so she was looking up the line of his jaw. 

“I was hoping you’d come with me.” 

“I’ll be there, I sent my RSVP ages ago.” She reached up and brushed his hair away from his neck, letting the silky strands fall through her fingers. He chuckled. 

“No, darling. I want you to  _ accompany  _ me.”

“But you’re hosting. I didn’t think--”

“Darling, I thought phrasing it as asking you to act as hostess would make you uncomfortable, but maybe I should have led with it.” 

Hermione’s mouth opened with a near-silent “pop.” She blinked up at him, not sure how to respond. 

“I’m not… I don’t… Are you…” She sat up and turned to face him, perching on the very edge of the cushion. “Are you sure?” She was a little fuzzy on the etiquette in the wizarding world, but she was fairly certain that it was a  _ big deal _ . Even bigger considering Draco was now engaged to Astoria. She could easily take on the role without anyone thinking twice. Bringing Hermione into it was...

“I know it is short notice, but I’m sure. Only if you would be comfortable with it, naturally.” 

“Naturally,” she echoed, her mind racing. 

“Everything is planned and ready. You would simply greet the guests and open the night for dancing with me.”

“Doesn’t that… Send a message?” Hermione squirmed under his steely gaze. He took her hands in both of his, lacing their fingers together. 

“Everything sends a message. Lunch tomorrow will send a message.”

“But…”

“Think about it. You don’t need to decide now. I simply wanted you to know that it was something I had on my mind, and the option is there.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently. “You asked for honesty and transparency, did you not?” 

She shook her head, smiling. “You win. I’ll think about it.” He inclined his head. “But it’s late, and I should go if I want to be to work on time.” Lucius didn’t miss the twinge of regret, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking her to stay.

“Very well. I’ll come by your office tomorrow for lunch. Say around one?” She beamed. 

“I’ll see you at one.” She gave him one last lingering kiss before stepping through the floo. 

  
***  
  


The next morning she was early, all possibilities of sleep chased away by unpleasant dreams, but she was determined to get out of the office at a decent time. Janet wasn’t in yet, but she’d been kind enough to put her roses under a stasis charm. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the flowers, and what had come after. 

She settled into replying to various bits of correspondence until Janet arrived. Her assistant came in with a relieved sigh and a wide smile. 

“You’re back! I was so worried I’d have to reschedule with the International Confederation of Wizards delegate again… She was not happy about it… Though I’ve found that to be true about most Americans. You’d think they’d understand a personal emergency once in a while...”

Hermione groaned. She’d forgotten all about that. “What time will the delegate be here?” 

“Two, but you have the meeting with the Muggle Studies professor from Hogwarts at eleven, and Ms Elmer is stopping by with tomorrow’s meeting agenda at ten.”

“Alright. I have a lunch scheduled for one, I’ll do my best to be back here on time for the ICW…” Hermione trailed off. “Janet can you get me a meeting with Harry at some point this week? I need to discuss a situation up at the school with him.” She nodded, and went back to her desk. Hermione sighed. It was going to be a long day, but she had Lucius to look forward to. 

Rosemary was early, though she spent a solid twenty minutes twittering about the proposal Hermione had on the back burner that would provide more information about the Magical world to parents of muggleborn students, as well as providing support to them before sending them to Hogwarts. 

“I’m excited too, I think it will be great, but it will take some time and refining before it’s ready…” Hermione wondered how the woman got anything done when she spent so much time talking in circles. Finally she left, and Hermione managed to work through a letter from a students’ parent that was concerned about the hazards of moving staircases in the castle. Not strictly her department, but that never stopped her before. 

She was still shaking her head when there was a knock on the door, and a pretty blonde came in, a wide smile on her face. Marta Moyes née Becker had been a year behind her in school, in Slytherin. She’d come to Hermione at the start of the term, proposing to pilot a cross-teaching program. Hermione had loved the idea, and since then had biweekly meetings with the Muggle Studies teacher to monitor their progress before taking it to the Hogwarts Board of Directors. 

Every two weeks, they planned a joint lesson with two different subjects to show the integration of magical subjects together. This last fortnight had been Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Next fortnight would be Potions and Herbology. 

They got right to work, and Hermione was feeling increasingly confident that the program could be wildly successful. They were discussing the possibilities of adding non-core class assignments to the younger students’ curriculum to inspire curiosity before they had to abruptly choose new classes at their end of their second year when Janet knocked on the door. 

“Lord Malfoy to see you, ma’am.”

“Send him through, thank you Janet.” Hermione rose to her feet, Marta following suit, looking mildly surprised. Lucius appeared, looking devilishly handsome in deep green robes. 

“Lucius, this is Marta Moyes, the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. Marta, I’m sure you know Lord Lucius Malfoy from the Board of Governors.” They both nodded politely, and she turned back to Marta. 

“If you think of anything further, please don’t hesitate to owl. Otherwise I’ll see you in two weeks! If Neville or Mathieu give you any trouble, let me know.” 

Marta gave her a wide smile and agreed before nodding again to Lucius and exiting the office. Hermione flicked her wand to shut the door and collapsed into her desk chair. Lucius lowered himself into the chair beside the one Marta had just vacated, looking amused. 

“Do you need a moment?” His grey eyes softened, and she felt herself melting. 

“No, I just need you.” She stood, coming around to stand between his knees, leaning down to kiss him. She was so lost in him that the soft knock didn’t register until it was too late, the door swinging open and the scene was met with startled green eyes. 

“Merlin, ‘Mione. Maybe use the lock?” 

She couldn’t help the blush that rushed over her cheeks as she sprung back. Lucius looked unperturbed, leaning back in his chair and looking Harry over with cool eyes. 

“Where is Janet?” Hermione sounded irritated. 

“She told me to come right in!” A moment’s hesitation and he stepped further into the room, slamming the door behind him. “You didn’t tell Janet?” 

“I haven’t had a chance!” She threw her hands up, turning away from her friend to sit back behind her desk. Lucius suppressed a smile. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter.”

“Er… You too.” He looked uncomfortable.

“Harry,” Hermione warned. 

“I was coming to warn you that Ron is taking an early retirement. After Friday, we thought it best to move it up a bit.” Harry leaned back against the door, arms crossed. 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open with a pop. “You mean you sacked him.” She dropped her face into her hands, the blood draining from her face. 

“Kingsley didn’t have a choice, ‘Mione! He tried to attack a sitting Lord! And then I had to chase him all over kingdom come to get him to settle. He’s lucky we didn’t lock him up for it. It would send a message if it was swept under the rug completely. If it wasn’t for—“ he stopped, and Hermione lifted her head. Lucius and Harry were exchanging pointed looks, and she narrowed her eyes. 

“Hey. If it wasn’t for what?” She looked between the two men, silently demanding answers. 

“I managed to convince the Minister to simply move up his retirement quietly, rather than press any charges.” Lucius finally explained with a sigh. 

Hermione groaned, and Harry pushed his glasses up, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“He’s not going to speak to me, is he? Her eyes dropped to the photo of them at Harry’s wedding. 

“He needs some time.” Harry straightened. “I’m pretty sure it’ll be like fourth year and he’ll figure out he’s being a prat sooner or later. “

“You only made up after you almost  _ died _ .” Hermione looked at him exasperatedly. 

“To be fair, of all the shit I put up with that year, the dragon was probably the least lethal.”

Lucius covered a chuckle by clearing his throat, and Harry spared him a glance. 

“I’m just saying, he’s got a bit of a track record, but he loves you as much as I do. He wouldn’t be so angry if he didn’t.” Hermione nodded, feeling sick. 

“Darling if you want to do lunch another day, I understand,” Lucius shifted his walking stick between his hands, and Hermione shook her head. 

“No, you’re already here and I could use the distraction.” 

Lucius nodded, and turned his attention to Harry. “You’re welcome to join us as well.”

Harry looked taken aback. “Thank you, but I have a meeting with International Law in…” he glanced at his watch. “Now.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at his typically poor time management skills. 

“So maybe next time. Or what about dinner after Gin’s match next Monday?” 

“I insist on having you at the Manor, in that case.” Lucius interjected firmly. 

“Sounds good, I’ll set it with Ginny. Now go! You know Hastings will be livid if you’re late,” Hermione urged. Harry disappeared through the door with a wave. 

“It sounds as if he’s already late, are you sure sending him to Mr Hastings anyway was a good idea?” 

Hermione smirked. “I charmed his appointment book ages ago. He always thinks his appointments are 15 minutes before they actually are so he shows up on time.” 

Lucius’ smirk was one of approval, and he stood. “Ready to send a message, dear?”

  
***

Their exit from the Ministry was smooth, a few surprised looks and double takes at her holding his arm, but nothing they weren’t prepared for. The cafe he’d chosen was quiet, and with a quiet word to the waitress, their service was quick, much to Hermione’s relief. She despised being late, and she was worried enough as it was to meet the new ICW educational advocate from the US. 

Lucius watched her pick at her food for several minutes before sighing. “Not eating is only going to make you feel worse going in. Trust me.” 

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “I know… I just can’t stop thinking about Ron.” He nodded, reaching out to take her hand across the table. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, my dear.” She shook her head, smiling sadly. 

“You did more than necessary. I’m sorry he can’t act like a rational human being around you. I hope he’ll change his mind, but I honestly don’t know if he will. He’s stubborn.” He watched her carefully, his face impassive. She shook her head again. 

“Is that why you were with the Minister today?” 

“No, I was speaking to him regarding other matters when it came up. She nodded again. 

“Oh dammit.” She looked annoyed. “I should have told Harry I needed to talk to him about what’s going on at the school.” She pressed the heel of her free hand to her temple. “If I keep going like this, I’m going to be useless.”

“You’re under inordinate amounts of stress, my dear. We’ll take care of you tonight after dinner. Please tell me you’re taking some time off for the holidays.” Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “I suspected not.”

“I don’t have any plans, there’s no reason to take two weeks off— Wait. Tonight?“

“Would it be presumptuous of me to say that you now have plans?”

“For dinner tonight or the holidays?”

“Both.” He smirked at her startled expression. “Unless you’d rather not, of course.” 

“No, I do… I just didn’t want to…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. 

“Assume anything?” He asked lightly, only his sparkling eyes belying his amusement. 

“Yeah.” She dropped her eyes to the plate in front of her. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. 

“Then consider this to be an open invitation. Any day, any time, for anything. Including but not limited to dinners, Christmas, birthdays, naps, midnight snacks, three am chess matches… So on and so forth” He said it as if he was negotiating a contract; all business, without a trace of a smile. 

She just blinked back at him, wondering if somehow he knew. “Hermione, I consider myself to have considerable self-control—“ She snorted, but he went on without missing a beat, “And it takes almost all of it to not come running after you each time you leave. So believe me when I say that you aren’t just welcome, but wanted, and needed.”

Her throat tightened, and she nodded. “I was serious about my cat rebelling, though.” 

He finally cracked a smile. “Then bring him too.” He brought his her hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Now. Eat, so we can get you back before you’re late.” 


	17. Enigmas

December 11, 2006

She finished her lunch quickly, and Lucius aparated them back to the Ministry. He kept her from rushing through the atrium, his hand on her back keeping her from running across the space so she wasn’t late. Fortunately, it seemed that the reporters were otherwise engaged and none were to be seen. Janet raised an eyebrow when Lucius started to follow her in, but wisely kept her mouth shut until he turned around. 

“Ms Granger has elected to take some time off around the holidays. I trust you’ll be able to clear her schedule?” 

Her mouth gaped open. “It’s fine, Janet,” Hermione called from her office. “Lucius is just trying to help.” Janet nodded, her mouth still hanging open. He raised an eyebrow, and Janet snapped her mouth shut at she turned and followed Hermione, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

“Do you have to terrify my assistant?” She hung up her cloak and turned around to be caught tightly in his arms. 

“I’ve been nothing but polite.” He smirked at her surprise at being trapped in his grasp. She rolled her eyes and rose up on her toes, kissing the corner of his jaw. 

“You know what I—“ 

The door to the office swung open again, this time to grey eyes. 

“For fucks’sake,” Draco sneered. “You have a lock.” 

“Where is Janet?” Hermione fumed, jumping back out of Lucius’ arms. 

“Language!” Lucius hissed. 

“Your secretary? She just pointed… I assumed that meant I could come in.” Draco scowled over his shoulder, ignoring his father. 

“Assistant!” Hermione corrected quickly. 

“What are you doing here?” Lucius’ exasperation was aimed towards his son. 

“After I finished with the Minster, I stopped to say hello to Alice MacNamara with the Misuse of Magic Office, and when I got to the atrium I had a reporter asking me for a statement on  _ your relationship. _ Which by the way did you have to do that  _ now?”  _ He paused. “And then I ran into Potter, who apparently thinks that I’m your own little errand—“

“To the point, Draco.” Lucius sounded bored. Draco rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. 

“Potter wants to see you.” He eyed Hermione. “And you.” 

“Well I have a meeting with the ICW but she’s late—“

“Actually I was just waiting for the green asshole to shut up, but we all know how difficult it is for him.” The American voice from the door sounded amused, and Draco’s eyes got wide. 

He turned around the face the witch in the doorway, a wide smile lighting up her brown eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” He gathered her in a tight hug, as she laughed. 

Lucius rolled his eyes, and Hermione finally realized why her name was familiar. 

Grace Rose Hollingsworth had dated Draco for almost their entire eighth year at Hogwarts. She’d been a transfer from Ilvermorny, and had returned to the US after sitting for her NEWTs with them at Hogwarts. 

“I have a meeting with Ms Granger that you are now cutting into.” 

“Fine fine. You have to come to dinner at the manor then. Tori will murder me if I get to see you and she didn’t.” 

“My portkey leaves at four to get me back by lunch in New York.” 

“So stay! I know Damian will set you up with another.” 

“I can’t, I have meetings all afternoon!” 

“Come back for the New Years Ball then. You’ll get to see everyone and we’ll have a good time.”

“Fine! I’ll set it up. Tell Tori I said hello. Which, by the way, ABOUT DAMN TIME.” They laughed and Lucius and Hermione shared a look. 

“Is it just me or did he just revert into an eighteen year old Draco?” Hermione muttered to Lucius, who’d joined her behind her desk. 

“Every time,” he sighed. “Last year she came for Halloween and they got so drunk it took them all three sobering solutions each to get fully sober… the next morning.” 

Hermione snickered, and Lucius gave her a sidelong glance. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Really you gotta go. Some of us actually work for a living.” Rose gave Draco another hug before pushing him towards the door. 

Draco snorted. “Fine. I’ll send you an invite with the details. And you better plan on staying a few days.” They were saying their goodbyes and Hermione turned to Lucius. 

“Go talk to Harry. I’ll make my way down when I’m done, and I’ll see you For dinner.” He nodded and kissed her cheek, before sweeping past his son and the other witch.

Rose raised an eyebrow and Draco shook his head before following his father. 

Once the door shut, she turned to Hermione, back to business. 

“Ms Granger. I was so glad to hear of the changes you’ve been implementing…”

***

  
Their meeting was wonderfully productive, and Hermione was relieved she didn’t say anything about Draco or Lucius until Hermione was finishing up a stack of paperwork for her to take back. 

“I mean Draco’s a looker but his father’s like a good wine… better with age. At least that I’ve seen.” 

Hermione almost choked on her own tongue. “Pardon me?” 

Rose leaned back in her chair, grinning. “I’m just saying. He’s got the sexy brooding down to a science. But then he’s got that hell of an unexpected benevolent streak when it suits him.”

Hermione’s face burned. “There are a lot of different sides to him.”

“And he looks good from every angle. I mean, I assume.” She grinned wickedly and Hermione scribbled the last few lines before standing and all but throwing them at her. 

“Thank you for coming, you can schedule a follow up with my assistant but if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting with our Auror director.” 

She was out the door before the ink dried on her signature.

Harry was unfortunately out of his office when she got there, with Draco and Lucius long gone. Kat Lyons, an Auror with short dark hair and a square jaw caught Hermione and let her know that Harry had been called out into the field and probably wouldn’t be back before she left for the day. 

Hermione left a message on his desk, and sighed at the clock. It was only four, and she’d been planning on being here until at least six, but the American witch had her wound up and irritated. 

She considered for a moment to just bow out early and return to the Manor, but she’d already taken Friday afternoon, and now Lucius was commandeering the two weeks around the holidays. Oh shite. Janet. 

She rushed back up to her office, and found Janet at her desk. 

“Janet…” 

“Yes ma’am?” The witch looked up, a Muggle pen tucked through her dirty-blonde hair and her glasses slipping down her broad nose. 

“I just wanted to check in with you. It’s been a crazy few weeks. How’s Jenna?” Janet’s daughter Jenna was 10, and would be attending Hogwarts the next year. 

“Oh she’s doing so well! I gave her the copy of  _ Hogwarts, A History  _ from you and she’s already read half of it. She says she wants to be a Gryffindor like you, but thinks she’ll be in Hufflepuff like me.” She smiled broadly, pride shining in her eyes. 

“Tell her we’ll be excited either way! And you? You’re doing okay?” 

“Oh I’m fine. But you may as well get to the point you’re dancing around.” She cocked her head. “You’re afraid I’m going to run screaming with him traipsing in and out of your office like he owns the place.”

Hermione flushed. Janet had her dead to rights, but then she usually did. Janet gave her a wry smile. “I won’t pretend to understand it, or like him. He’s a bit too… grandiose for my tastes.” 

Hermione chuckled. “Grandiose is a good word for Lucius.” 

“But you’re not stupid. And I find it hard to believe you’d have anything to do with him if you or I had anything to fear from him, even with the creepy snake cane. What is that all about, anyway?” Hermione blinked. He didn’t use it around the manor that she’d seen, but he was never without it in public. 

“You know… I have no idea.” She laughed, and Janet joined her. “Of all the things we’ve talked about, it’s never come up.” Janet shook her head.

“Like I said. I won’t pretend to understand. But you seem happy, despite Mr Weasley’s very vocal disagreements. And for what it’s worth, he’s rubbish at silencing charms.” 

“So when you asked about the roses…” Hermione’s face burned, knowing Janet had heard, but grateful she didn’t say anything at the time. 

“I knew. I was just wondering if you’d tell me. I knew you would in time. Didn’t know you’d do it by leading him in on a leash, but…” She smiled again, and shrugged. 

“I thought you’d quit the moment I told you,” Hermione admitted, leaning her elbows on the counter, burying her face in her hands. 

“I probably would have, before last week,” Janet confessed. 

Hermione looked up sharply, dropping her hands. “What changed?” 

“You pulled those laws he passed. I think you forget sometimes that everything you get comes across my desk first. I read them before I passed them on. I can respect him for what he’s done without liking...” She trailed off, obviously thinking she’d been too frank. 

“He’s a better man than he’s given credit for.” Hermione traced a rune onto the counter with her fingertip, and Janet huffed a sigh. 

“I was working in International Law when he dragged in an American guy for abusing his wife and children. I probably should have known then, but it was all so fresh from after the war…” Janet stopped again. “Well. I suppose it’s a moot point now. But I cross my heart, I won’t run screaming, and I’m just glad he’s actually getting you to take some time off.” 

Hermione laughed. “If he’s not careful I’m going to be worthless at work anyway. He’s very distracting when he wants to be.” 

Janet gave her a look that clearly told her to stop while she was ahead, and Hermione flushed again.

“Thank you. I don’t say it enough, but you do so much around here, and I couldn’t do it without you.” 

Janet beamed. “On that very happy note, I have to go get Jenna. I’ll see you in the morning.” Hermione said her goodbyes and retreated to her office, relieved to know at the very least she wouldn’t be losing her assistant. She dove back into the correspondence she’d abandoned that morning, and the rest of her remaining hour went fairly quickly, and she had to fight herself not to sprint to the floo from the lift. 

When she stepped into Lucius’ study, the first thing she noticed was that his desk was a mess of papers, envelopes, and pieces of parchment. She’d never seen his desk looking so disorganized, and for some unknown reason it sent a spike of anxiety up her spine. An elegant-looking eagle feather quill rested to the right of the papers, and she briefly wondered what his normal day looked like. Today for instance, he’d said he would be spending most of the day at Gringotts, but he’d ended up at the Ministry for several hours. 

She pushed the question aside, wondering where Lucius had gotten to. She slipped her cloak off and draped it over the back of a chair, turning back to the wide desk. It looked fairly comparable to her desk, if she were to be honest. Bits of correspondence and pieces of legislation littered the desk, but she stopped to smile at the sight of his bold handwriting, wondering if Lucius would sit beside her or across from her again to pass her more infuriatingly distracting notes. 

She drifted away from the desk to examine the wall of shelves and the books filling them behind it. Most of them were books on wizarding law, though she spied a few muggle law books and family histories on the shelves as well. It made her smile, the juxtaposition of the pureblooded family histories against the muggle law books. 

“Such an enigma, Lucius Malfoy.” 

“So I’ve been told.” She jumped at the silky voice behind her, but smiled at the man just inside the door, holding a sheaf of papers, looking entertained. “How was the rest of your afternoon, darling?” He dropped the papers on his desk, giving her a solid kiss. 

“It was fine, but it’s certainly better now. I don’t know how much I like Draco’s friend... I mean professionally, she was phenomenal. Personally…” she trailed off, not totally sure how he would react. 

“She is rather direct,” Lucius mused. “And I take it she had something to say regarding my presence.” Lucius sat at his desk, shuffling through the papers he’d set down.

“Something, to be sure. She seems to be a fan of yours,” Hermione said lightly. 

“She has been very grateful in the past for facilitating the removal of her father from her life. He was a nasty little man.” 

Hermione wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘facilitating his removal,” but she wasn’t sure she wanted to and she definitely didn’t feel like dwelling on it at the moment. “This went beyond gratitude.” 

Lucius paused, raising his head slowly. “Hermione, dear. Are you jealous?” His eyes sparkled as her cheeks flushed pink. “Or feeling a tad teritorial, perhaps?” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she looked away. 

“I just... “ She stopped, unable to articulate a proper response. She felt as if she had no right, no place to act as such, but she couldn’t deny how much she hadn’t liked hearing the other witch speak of him. 

“Hermione,” he warned. Standing, he trapped her between the bookcase and his form, grasping the shelves. Her cheeks got steadily hotter, but she couldn’t make herself look any higher than the dark green robes that smelled like heaven. 

“Or are you unaffected?” The edge in his voice was what made her look up. His eyes sparkled, and try as he might, he couldn’t cover the smile. 

The relief that flooded through her was quickly replaced by an odd mixture of indignance and confusion. 

“I’m not even sure what you wanted me to say to that.” 

“The truth would be preferable.” Lucius leaned in closer. “Do you already think I’m yours and yours alone, witch?” 

“Well we haven’t exactly discussed it…” She trailed off when he began to chuckle. “What? Don’t laugh at me!” She glared up at him. 

“You are, without a doubt, the most interesting little witch I’ve ever encountered. I’ve all but spelled out my devotion and you’re concerned that I might not appreciate that you found yourself to be similarly affected as myself?” 

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again, and then settled for crossing her arms and glaring up at him. Altogether, she made a rather petulant picture, and he couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss her. 

Against her lips he murmured, “I don’t share, and I do not like to be shared. I could only hope you would feel the same.” Her hands twisted in his robes, pulling him closer. 

“You infuriating man. Most would consider it a good thing I don’t like to assume anything. Yes, I was jealous, yes, I was feeling particularly territorial. And yes, I like to think you are mine, and mine alone.” 

“Good.” He pressed in, his kiss hungry and demanding, and she responded in kind. She could get drunk on the taste of him, the feeling of her body being held to his enough to light every nerve on fire and gasp at the loss of him. “Are you ready for dinner, darling?” 

She groaned, dropping her head back against the shelves. 

“If I must. But I repeat, once again. You are far too good at that.” He smirked, stepping away and adjusting his robes in a way that suggested he was just as affected as she was. Hermione couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit smug about it, but pushed it away. She could monopolize him and his time, but she wasn’t ready to fill the place in his bed yet. 

She watched as he moved to his desk, again shuffling through papers. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so disorganized,” she intoned lightly. 

“An unfortunate side effect of being distracted by Minister Shacklebolt instead of of keeping my affairs in order. It’s no matter.” He waved his wand and the stacks were neatly divided into two piles. “Dinner, my dear.” Hermione took his hand and let herself be led from the study. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For readers of Dragons and Roses... Surprise! We’re you happy to see our old friend? 😉


	18. Unexpected

As she made her way to the conference room the next morning she was yawning, her sleep the night before having been interrupted by nightmares of Bellatrix and Voldemort, yet again. She felt uneasy, as if she’d missed something in it all. 

Like last week, the meeting from across the hall was ending, and she nodded her hellos to the aurors, and shared a warm good morning with Anthony Fairview. 

“Hermione! It’s good to see you. I was just telling Lucius, Cassia and I want to have you over for dinner before the holidays!”

Hermione smiled, feeling at ease with the wizard. “That sounds lovely. I look forward to meeting her.” 

“Great! We’ll send you an owl and get it set up. Sorry to rush off but I’ve got an appointment in ten. We’ll see you soon!” He waved and was carried off with the wave of other ministry employees, just in time for Lucius to appear in the doorway, speaking in low tones with Harry, of all people. 

“Harry!” He looked up, a flash of guilt crossing his features. 

“Morning, ‘Mione.” He smiled, but it wasn’t right. She narrowed her eyes immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Why would you think something’s wrong?”

“Because you look guilty and you’re doing that smile that you do when you’ve been hurt on the job and haven’t told Ginny yet.” 

Lucius arched an eyebrow at her, but quickly lowered it and looked back to Harry. 

“Dammit, ‘Mione. Can you be wrong for just once in your life?” Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Lucius pressed his lips together in a tight line, and she glared at him. 

“I wasn’t _wrong_ , Lucius, so wipe the smug look off your face. And no, Harry, I can’t. Because it usually means someone is hurt or dying.” 

“Nobody is dying—“

“So somebody’s hurt.”

“Not technically—“

“Harry James Potter—“

“‘Mione I gotta go. Just come see me today, yeah? Even if it’s after hours, come by and see me at the house. I’ll see you later.” He gave her arm a squeeze as he passed, and she narrowed her eyes at Lucius. 

“I wasn’t wrong.” 

He smirked, pulling the door to their conference room open. “Of course not, my dear. Simply, shall we say, misguided.”

She huffed but deemed it acceptable and took her usual seat in the middle of the table, while Lucius again took the sweet opposite her. Like before, when then stack of minutes came around, her name was on the top sheet, though yet again she hadn’t seen him charm it.   
  


_What were you talking about with Harry?_

**Nothing important.**

_It looked important._

**Darling, everything is fine. Now pay attention or you’ll miss the muggleborn statistics again.**

She rolled her eyes, but he was right. This time she was able to bring up the importance of reiterating to muggleborn’s parents that having one magical child means they were at an increased likelihood of having another, but there were no guarantees they would. 

**Tired?**

_Fine, why?_

**If I am not mistaken, that was the fifth time you’ve yawned since we sat down.**

_You’re counting my yawns?_

**You look exhausted, my dear. I just want to be sure you’re taken care of.**

_Didn’t sleep well last night. I’m fine._

**Anything I can do to help?**

_Short of a fresh cup of coffee or whatever magic you worked Saturday night, not particularly. Thank you, though._

**I can arrange both.**

_Wait. What did you do to me Saturday?_

Hermione glared across the table, but Lucius appeared to be listening intently to whatever Rosemary was saying. Hermione took the opportunity to really look at the man that she’d once seen as her enemy. 

Here, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that he had a steel rod in place of a spine, a mask of ice instead of a face and heart full of emotion. In private, however… He was so utterly human. He yawned, he did this adorable chicken-wing stretch, he made occasional mistakes while playing new pieces on the piano… She still found it odd that she was the one privy to his gorgeous full laughter, his genuine smile when she caught him off guard, and the passion that simmered under his kisses. Passion that he kept a tight rein on. 

She wondered what would happen if he decided to give it it’s head, if he let it boil up and over. She wondered if she should fear the day that happened. Would his passion be fire or ice? Would she escape unscathed, would she be burnt or frozen, or transformed?

The flurry of motion pulled her from her thoughts, the other occupants of the conference room gathering their things and filtering out of the room. Lucius himself was still seated, watching her with wary eyes. 

“Are you sure you quite alright?” He cocked his head by a fraction, and Hermione cleared her throat. 

“Quite.” His level stare told her he didn’t believe her in the slightest, but here was neither the time nor place to indulge his anxieties. She stacked her papers and files neatly, standing with Lucius’ eyes still trained on her. He rose to his feet gracefully, turning to say something to Rosemary that Hermione couldn’t focus on long enough to understand. She shook her head. 

This mental fog that followed not one, but several nights of nightmares chasing all chance of sleep away was taking its toll. She thought she’d been managing, but after the singular night with Lucius that she’d gotten a full night’s rest, she’d been harshly reminded of how tired she’d been for so long. 

Rather than interrupt Lucius and Rosemary, she moved into the hall, hoping that the act of moving would help her wake up. Unfortunately, all it did was exacerbate the headache that had been forming for most of the morning. Pressing a palm to her temple, she leaned against the wall, wondering if she’d actually be able to get through the next six hours like this. 

“Darling…” His fingers ghosted down her arm, and she snapped up, opening her eyes and lowering her hand. 

“Sorry.” She blinked against the lights of the corridor, and the concern creasing his brow. 

“Hermione, you’re worrying me.” Lucius’ voice was low, but his eyes were unguarded and anxious. 

“I’m fine, really. Just a headache.” She gave him a small smile. 

“Would you tell me if it was more than that?” His arm slid to the small of her back as they started down the hallway, the light pressure guiding her through the halls of the Ministry. 

“Honesty and transparency, remember?” She gave him another tired smile. “But stop worrying. I’ve felt far worse and done much more trying things than a few interdepartmental meetings” 

“I’m sure you have, my dear.” The lift doors slid open and they fell silent as they took their places, Lucius resting both hands on the head of his walking stick. One floor up, she stepped off, belatedly realizing that she had no idea if Harry would even be in his office. 

Still, it couldn’t hurt to check, so she hurried down the hall. Again, she found his office empty, but usually bustling auror floor was eerily quiet, and again her anxiety spiked. She shook it off, insisting to herself that she was overreacting. 

Back in her own office she smiled at the fresh cup of coffee waiting on her desk, the thoughtful gesture from Lucius making her heart swell. After that, she made herself focus, stopping only for a sandwich that Janet was kind enough to bring her. After another meeting with Alice MacNamara of the Improper Use of Magic office at four, she made her way back to Harry’s office and was again told that she missed him. She was getting sick of playing tag, so she deposited her things, and instead of flooing to the Manor, she called out the address to Harry and Ginny’s house. 

“Harry is that you?” Ginny called from the kitchen, and Hermione sighed. 

“No, it’s me!” She shrugged off her cloak, joining Ginny. “I’ve been missing Harry at the office for days, but he told me he needed to talk to me today.” 

Ginny was stirring a pot of something that smelled divine, and she rolled her eyes. “He’s killing me. He’s been home late every day for weeks.” She summoned a pair of bowls from the cupboard and handed one to Hermione. 

They chatted over the stew, Ginny was surprised to hear that they’d been invited to the Manor for dinner, and an hour or so later the floo roared to life. 

“Gin, do you know if I left my--” Harry appeared through the door, and stopped. “Oh good you came. I was going bloody mad trying to catch you.” 

“You’ve seen me twice in the past two days. What’s so important that you couldn’t…” She trailed off. “What were you and Lucius talking about today?” She narrowed her eyes at Harry, who sank down in a dining chair next to Ginny. 

“Well…” He pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Ginny dropped her face into her hand.

“Spit it out, Harry.” Ginny raised her head from where it was cradled in her palm. “She’s going to find out tomorrow anyway.”

“Find what out?” Hermione narrowed her eyes. 

“I had the entire department under orders not to say anything, but it got leaked to the Prophet Saturday. That son of a bitch that threatened Viv Beaulieu is running around with the Death Eaters that are back, so I’m doing my best not to disrupt classes at—“

“What did you just say?” Hermione’s blood ran cold, and her stomach dropped. “What did you say about Death Eaters?”

Harry stopped, paling slightly. “I thought you knew. Seen it in the _Prophet_ or heard it from him… Some of the escaped Death Eaters have been reported to be back in Britain.” Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. “Tomorrow they’re re-running it on the front page but with names.”

“Who?” It was barely a whisper. 

“Reports are Dolohov and Lestrange leading a small group. Maybe half a dozen others plus that maniac Ben Wilson… They were reported in France and Spain and they’re saying they killed a handful of witches and wizards in both countries, but we’re still looking into Muggle deaths trying to narrow down what was them.”

“And this was in the Prophet?” Hermione fought to keep her voice even. This had to be what had Lucius so angry Sunday morning... Why his desk was a mess... Why he needed to speak to Kingsley... What he wasn’t telling her. 

“Not all of it. Just that there were Death Eaters rumored to be in Wales.” Harry summoned the weekend’s edition, flipping to the page and pointing it out to Hermione. It was the article Lucius had been reading at breakfast Saturday morning. And he had told her it was nothing. 

Hermione closed her eyes, fighting the bile rising in her throat. Lucius was going to be suspected by not just the Ministry, but the whole of the wizarding community when the extent of it was revealed. Lucius was going to be targeted by the Death Eaters for defecting. Lucius. Lucius. _Lucius._

“Hermione?” Ginny touched her elbow carefully. 

“Harry you have to tell them Lucius isn’t involved.” Her voice shook, and the room swam. 

“‘Mione I can’t—“

“Harry you have to!” The tears that filled her eyes started to slide down her face. Fear knotted her stomach and her blood ran cold. 

“It’s not that simple, I—“ Hermione cut him off, stalking from the kitchen.

“Hermione!” Ginny caught her arm, spinning Hermione around to face her. “Don’t go flying in there saying something you regret. You’re not Ronald.” 

She shook Ginny off and threw herself through their floo with a muttered “Malfoy Manor, Master Study.”


	19. Fighting

“Lucius!” He wasn’t in the study, and fear was making her panic. She screamed his name, racing down the stairs and the long hallway. “Lucius!” 

Her voice echoed back at her, but drew Astoria out from a drawing room near the library. 

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” 

“Where is he?!” It was nearly a sob, and Draco emerged from the library itself, looking confused. 

“Granger, what the—“ 

“Where is he?” Several purple sparks shot from the end of her wand, punctuating her screams. 

“He’s in his room, but what—“ Draco started, but she was already tearing down the hall in the opposite direction. She paid no mind to Astoria following her. She reached the door of his chambers and pounding on it. 

“Lucius! Lucius you bastard.” She was sobbing unabashedly now. “Open the damn door!” 

“Hermione?” His voice came from behind her, the doorway of the room she’d slept in swinging open. She was a trembling mess when his arms folded around her. Solid and safe, in one piece no less. Her relief at seeing him safe was quickly overruled by her outrage. 

“They’re back and you knew!” Hermione’s anger flared further at his confusion, and she tore herself backwards to face him. “I told you not to block me out! And you had the gall to tell me not to worry? You made  _ Harry  _ tell me? They will  _ kill  _ you if they get the chance! This isn’t just about you or me or the healer anymore!” 

Realization was quickly smothered by his long-relied-upon mask of indifference, and Hermione crumbled. 

“Honesty is all I wanted from you. I hoped that it wouldn’t be, but evidently it was too much to ask.” Her chest felt like it was going to be ripped apart by her anguish. 

“I told you I need more information before—“ 

“No! No, you don’t get to hide and carry that weight alone!” She watched his eyes grow hard and cold, morphing from the man she knew to the man she’d battled in the Department of Mysteries. She knew she’d lost. 

“I don’t  _ get  _ to? Who are you to tell me what I am  _ allowed _ ?” His voice was like ice against her skin, and her will wavered, and came crashing down around her. Her exhaustion and fear and pain was too much. 

“My apologies,  _ Lord Malfoy _ .” The contempt dripped from her words like honey. She strode past him, head held high. She passed Astoria, who turned and followed her, until she passed Draco who caught Astoria by the arm, holding her back. She went back the way she came, disappearing with a roar of green flames. 

Lucius sagged against the doorframe, the sting of her formality taking his breath away, leaving him cold. The anger had melted faster than it had taken him over, and he was left with immediate, earth-shattering regret. She’d warned him. She’d told him he had to be honest. But he’d wanted so desperately to protect her, to shield her from the coming storm. He hadn’t considered that Potter would tell her that they were back, just that the American was involved with them, because of her involvement at the school… But of course Potter would have told her everything; he should have foreseen that. 

He’d been looking over the bed they’d shared when she’d screamed for him. He’d been wondering if it should be redecorated to suit her tastes better; then the sheer terror in her voice had made his heart nearly stop. Instead of comforting her, he’d pushed her away, treating her as he would have ten years ago. Why had he done that? Why had he allowed himself to slip into the man he’d once been, rather than the man he wanted to be for her?

Draco and Astoria were nearby, but he couldn’t bring himself to put on another face. His will was being tested to the max to not go after her, to fall to his knees at her feet. 

“Father what—“ Lucius held up one shaking hand. “You didn’t tell her?” The incredulity in his son’s expression was replaced with a sinking pain as he met Lucius’ eyes. 

“Draco, please go.” He turned away from his son, stumbling into the room that he saw as hers. He fell into the power blue sheets, the pain in his chest by far surpassing the pain in his hip, desperately trying to hold on to the memory of her sleepy giggles in his arms. 

***

Draco rubbed his face tiredly. Ever since Hermione’s sudden appearance and departure hours before, he and Astoria had been in his father’s study, hoping for either one of them to emerge. Astoria had demanded answers of Draco after Hermione’s fit over the returned Death Eaters and she’d been silent since, nursing a glass of firewhiskey. 

Draco wanted to speak to his father, but the look of utter defeat on his face after Hermione had left cut Draco to the core. He didn’t know if he could face that look in his eye again. His despair had rivaled that of the day Narcissa had died. So he sat, staring at the yellow flames, praying to Circe that they would turn green. 

As the hours ticked by, his own hopelessness grew. Granger’s sobs echoed through his mind until they mingled with his memories of her torture on the drawing room floor. She had begged for her life then, but today she’d been begging for Lucius’. 

Midnight came and went, and neither the witch or wizard had reappeared. He sighed, his hope gone. 

“Tori, let’s go to bed. There’s nothing we can do.” She nodded mutely, her eyes red. 

***

Lucius heard their footsteps pass by the room, and he held the pillow tighter. 

“Bigsy,” he called quietly into the dark. 

“Yes Master Lucius?” The house elf spoke softly, somewhere behind him. 

“Will you please check on Hermione? Don’t let her know you’re there… I just need to know she’s safe.” 

“Yes Master Lucius.” A quiet pop, and she was gone, leaving him alone with his guilt once more. 

***

Hermione tossed and turned in her bed. Tears still leaked from her eyes, dampening her pillows and making her headache almost unbearable. The sheets irritated her skin, and they smelled too sweet. 

She sat up, intending to pummel her pillow into submission, but ended up hugging her legs to her chest, sobbing. Her hair stuck to her face and her body shook. Crookshanks perched on her dresser, looking balefully down at her. His ears perked up though, and he hissed at an empty corner of the room. Hermione didn’t notice, her heart shattered like glass against icy stone. 

***

“Master Lucius, Bigsy saw the miss.” The house elf spoke even more quietly. 

“Where is she? Is she safe?” Lucius held his breath, not entirely sure what answer he wanted to hear. 

“The Miss is at her home. The Miss is crying, sir. She is so sad…” She sounded heartbroken for Hermione. She was quickly getting attached to her, much as she’d been to Narcissa. Much as he was attached to the young, vibrant witch. He couldn’t stand knowing she was crying alone. He sat up, the candles flaring to life around the room. 

“Bigsy, would you go back to her? Tell her I said that I was sorry. Tell her I want to make it right.” His ego burned but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear letting her suffer because she had cared and he hadn’t let her. 

“May Bigsy bring her back to Master Lucius?” Her huge blue eyes pleaded with him, and his voice cracked as he answered. 

“If she is agreeable, please do. I… I need her.” Bigsy bobbed her head once, and disaperated. 

***

Hermione didn’t hear the “pop” of Bigsy’s arrival over her cries, and she jumped when she was addressed. 

“Miss Hermione? Miss?” Bigsy wrung her hands, her giant blue eyes worried. 

“Bigsy? What are you doing here?” Hermione wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, sniffling. 

“Master Lucius sent Bigsy. Master Lucius said to tell Miss that he is sorry, and wants to make it right.” Hermione dissolved into sobs again, shoulders shaking. “Master Lucius said to take Miss to him, if Miss agrees. Master Lucius says he needs Miss.” Hermione sobbed into her hands. She hadn’t expected him to apologise, or confess that he needed her yet again. Not after how cold he’d been. 

Sniffing loudly, she looked at the nervous creature standing beside her bed. “What did he do when I left?” Bigsy shifted into her feet. 

“Master Lucius has not left Miss’s room since Miss left.” Hermione blinked, more tears squeezing out. He’d stayed there. And called it hers. But why? 

Hermione wiped more tears away, hearing Ginny’s voice telling her not to act like Ron. What was she going to do? 

***

Lucius’ anxiety and despair skyrocketed as he waited for the house elf to reappear. There’s no way Hermione would come back after the way he spoke to her. She was gone forever, and it was all his fault. 

He would have to sit across from her in interdepartmental meetings and see her in the lift and pretend that he didn’t want to kiss her and make her smile. Pretend that his heart hadn’t lept when he realized she was jealous, and swelled every time she’d turned those molten gold eyes to him. 

He would have to sit in the chair in his study without her in his lap, attend meals without her, and sleep in this bed alone. It almost seemed worse than life without Narcissa. Narcissa was gone; Hermione was alive and well,  _ without him.  _

A small “pop,” and he didn’t believe what he was seeing was real. Hermione was standing in the room, her hand clutching the house elf’s for dear life. He sat straight up, hope blooming in his chest. He waited for the little elf to leave before speaking. 

“Hermione…” Her eyes were red and puffy, avoiding his own; she had clearly been crying, probably since she’d left, and it felt like he’d been hit with a jelly-legs jinx. Her hair was still damp from a shower or bath, and she was clad in a t-shirt and athletic shorts, a dressing gown and slippers thrown over them. He took her in, swearing he’d never seen anything so beautiful. 

“Bigsy said…” Her voice broke, and she looked further away from him, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Bigsy said you wanted to talk to me.” 

“I’m so sorry.” Lucius slid from the bed, acutely aware of how he must look; rumpled robes, his hair was surely a mess, his face even more pale than normal. Her lip trembled and her hands twisted around her wand, just as they had the night she’d come to apologise to him. “I should have told you what I knew, and I never should have spoken to you like I did. My immediate reaction is to protect you, even though I know your wish is for me not to. I’m going to have to work on it. I cannot promise you I’ll never do it again, but I promise I will try.” He drew a shuddering breath, aching to reach out for her. 

“You walked away and I was sure you wouldn’t come back to me. I feared you wouldn’t come back.” He squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of her impending rejection. Instead, a soft body pressed against his. His eyes popped open in surprise, and he looked down to see her chestnut curls shaking with her sobs. He wrapped her arms around her, relief flooding through him. 

“If you ever… I won’t… I can’t…” Her body shook, and each of her shuddering breaths felt like a dagger to Lucius’ heart. “I don’t want to fight with you, Lucius. Not now, not later… I was just so scared I was going to come back and they’d have you. I was blindsided. And I was so mad you didn’t tell me. And I was so hurt that you said that like you did. I was prepared to fight for you and you shut me out,” she sobbed. It felt like there were steel bands around his chest. She’d been afraid she’d lost him. And he’d treated her like his father had treated him. 

“I am so sorry, my dear. I am so, so sorry.” He stroked her hair, pressing kisses to the top of her head. She was holding him as tight as she could, fisting his robes and burying her nose in his chest. 

“Please don’t block me out again. Please don’t leave me.” Her voice was so small, and he pulled her into his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I will never leave you, darling. I promise. I’m yours.” Lucius held her tighter, as if she was going to disappear if he let go. 

“I don’t want them to take you. Or hurt you,” she whimpered, tears flowing freely. 

“They won’t. I’m all yours, darling. All yours.” He breathed in the raspberry smell of her hair, letting it fill his nose and calm him. Her own tears slowed, her hands slackening against his robes as they sat there for a long while, neither of them quite willing to let go of the other. 

The minutes ticked by, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “My dearest Hermione. I am so sorry I’m not worthy of you,” he whispered into her hair. She shook her head violently, pulling back but renewing her grip on his robes. 

“Don’t you dare even think that you’re not good enough. You are already the best thing to ever happen to me.” Her brown eyes burned, and he bent to her will, kissing her instead of arguing. She let go of his robes to thread her fingers through his hair instead, and he moaned softly in appreciation. She was the first to pull back this time, resting her forehead against his shoulder. 

“I’m so tired. This whole week has been so overwhelming. Being angry at you is exhausting. Fighting with you is even worse. Now everything just hurts.” She sagged into him, and he nodded, holding her closer still. 

“Do you want to have Bigsy take you home, or would you like to stay with me?” He wished so badly for her to want to stay. He didn’t know if he could let her go now. She sniffed. 

“Given the choice, I’ll pick you every time. I actually slept with you nearby. That alone makes me reluctant to let you go,” she teased him, but the fresh tears that filled her eyes and clung to her eyelashes gave him pause. 

“I won’t let you go. You have my word.” She sighed. 

“That’s not what I’m asking for, Lucius.” 

“But it’s what I want to give you.” 

“Why don’t you go change? We can talk about it when we’ve both had some sleep, and I’m not crying and you’re not… Well I don’t even know what you’re feeling because you hide it so damn well.” Her exasperation nearly brought her to tears again. He held her closer to his chest, and spoke slowly into her wild curls after a generous pause.

“I’m relieved and even more surprised that you came back to me. I’m still in awe that you came to me the first time, let alone over and over again. I’m overwhelmed that you find it in yourself to forgive me for my many failures and still care for one such as myself.” His words were quiet and slow, and he took a deep breath before going on. “I have little experience sharing my emotions so openly, my dear. Least of all my fear. But I fear nothing more than the thought that I may lose you; to someone else, to the darkness that once consumed our world, to my own shortcomings.” 

She was crying again, her tears silent on her cheeks. He reached up, brushing them away as gently as he could. 

“Don’t hide from me and you won’t.” She kissed him on the cheek, sliding out of his lap. “Go change. I’m not going anywhere.” She slid off her dressing gown and slippers to climb over the massive bed rather gracelessly and wiggled between the sheets. He smiled, and went to change. 

Upon his return, he found her tucked in with the covers pulled to her chin, her eyes heavy. Her brown eyes lit up when he appeared though, further soothing the lingering ache in his chest. When he laid down beside her, she wrapped herself around him as he whispered to put the candles out. 

“Have I ever told you how good you smell?” She smiled into his chest as he chuckled. “Like amortentia.”

That got her a full-bodied laugh. “No love potions, I promise. Just vanilla, patchouli, and pineapple.” 

“Pineapple, really?” 

“Mhmm.”

“I never know what to expect from you next.”

“No? I suspect in time that will fade, and you’ll be anticipating my every move.”

“You’re far too clever for that, or else Anthony wouldn’t still be losing.”

“You may just be more clever than Anthony.”

“Your silver tongue will get you in trouble one day.”

“Perhaps.” 

“Speaking of trouble. You never told me what you did to me Saturday.” She sounded vaguely accusing, and Lucius couldn’t contain another laugh. 

“I just held you.” He kissed her forehead in the dark, and soon her breathing was slow and even. Lucius cradled her sleeping form carefully, and for the first time since the day Narcissa died, tears trickled down his face. 


	20. Indisposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione falls ill

Hermione woke up with her nose pressed into something that smelled like Lucius, but it wasn’t until she brought her hand up to smooth over the expanse that she realized that it was his stomach. Her head was in his lap and he’d already changed out of his silk pajamas. 

She opened her eyes to see him set aside several sheets of parchment. 

“Good morning, darling. Or should I say afternoon?” She blinked at him, until the weight of his words settled in. She sat bolt upright.

“What time is it?” 

“Nearly four in the afternoon.”

“Oh no! I have to--” Lucius caught her wrist in an iron grip as she tried to free herself from the bedclothes. 

“I sent an owl to your office this morning. They are not expecting you back until after the new year.” 

“Lucius! I can’t just--”

“Hermione, sshh.” He interrupted her before she could launch fulling into her tirade. “You’ll be working from home for the next week  _ if _ you feel well enough, followed by two weeks off for the holidays. The minister and Minerva both think it’s long overdue and even suggested you take longer, but I knew I was already pressing the limits.” 

“But--”

“But nothing, my dear. You are exhausted, and making yourself ill.” Lucius pinned her with a steel stare, daring her to contradict him. She slumped against the pillows, admitting defeat. She was still so tired and her whole body ached.

“I informed my associates that I would be doing the same, so I’ll be here with you. With any luck, Mr Potter and his Aurors will have captured the remaining Death Eaters in that time, and we can return to our work without fear.” 

“You’ve been busy today,” Hermione observed appreciatively. He regained his haughty smirk.

“I do my best work when there is a pretty witch waiting in my bed.” Hermione blushed, and he laughed. “All in due time. And we have all the time in the world.” 

“What are you working on?” She glanced at the stack of papers he’d set aside. 

“International trade contracts. Are you hungry?” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, and he smirked. 

“Good. Bigsy will be up presently with tea.” 

“I should get up, and I’ll need to owl Janet and Minerva, but--” 

“You’re staying in bed.” He picked the contract back up and didn’t respond to the scathing look she gave him. 

“I don’t think it’s necessary to stay--” 

“Darling, you slept like the dead for nearly fourteen hours, you still have a fever, and I have no intention of allowing you to get to that point again.” He said it lightly, as if he was telling her what the weather was like.

“I was just tired!”

“Ah, yes. When was the last time you got a good night’s rest?” 

“Sunday!” 

“And before that?” Her answering silence was telling, and he continued without looking up from the contract. “As I thought.”

She wasn’t sure where he was going with this; though if he hadn’t known before, he did now. But in classic Lucius fashion, he turned it on its head. 

“I’d like for you to stay here, for the time being.”

“I’m perfectly fine at my--”

“I fear for your safety. The Manor is well warded and protected.” 

“Crookshanks--”

“Seems to be settling in nicely.” Lucius smirked, and flicked his black robes aside to show the ginger cat curled up against his opposite thigh. He set the contract aside again, petting the cat. 

“Is there anything you haven’t tied up in a neat little bow while I was sleeping?” 

“You were asleep for quite some time. I had ample time for bows.” 

Bigsy appeared before Hermione could snap at him, her blue eyes wide, no tea tray in sight. 

“Master Lucius, Master Draco asked me to inform you that Mr Potter is here, looking for the Miss.” She wrung her hands, and Hermione groaned. 

“Thank you Bigsy. I’ll be down shortly.” Lucius prodded the cat, who didn’t budge.

“I’m going down with you.” Hermione threw back the covers and grabbed her dressing gown before Lucius got Crookshanks off his robes. 

“Darling you should stay in bed.” 

“Harry will tear this place apart unless I tell him myself. He knew how mad I was when I left… And to be honest, I should still be mad at you, and he’ll know that.” Lucius didn’t look happy, but it was hard to tell from the angle that he was standing at, trying to charm the cat hair from his robes. 

“Fine, but’--” Hermione was already out the door, heading down the hall and stairs towards the sound of Harry and Draco’s shouts from the entryway. 

“She’s not here! She came in screaming last night, and left. Tori and I were by the Floo she uses until after midnight!” 

“She didn’t show up to work, and unless I’m very much mistaken this is YOUR family seal! Where is she, Malfoy?” 

“I don’t know where she is, Potter! Trust me, if I did, I’d be dragging her back myself! I haven’t even seen Father--” 

“I knew I’d grow on you eventually, Draco. Harry, calm down.” Both men whirled around, relief gracing both of their faces. Harry still clutched a letter with an emerald green wax seal decorated with an ornate “M” on the envelope. 

“Oh thank Merlin. Please tell me Father--

“‘Mione! What the hell were you thinking? Are you--” Their shouts overlapped and echoed off the exposed marble. 

“Both of you _shut up_.” The soft pressure on her lower back told her Lucius had caught up, and she leaned into him. Her head was starting to ache again, and she was already regretting getting out of bed. She pressed the heel of her hand to her temple, and she could practically feel Lucius’ concern radiating off of him.

“You should go back to bed,” Lucius murmured. 

“Like fucking hell! ‘Mione what’s wrong?” Harry was pushing past Draco, who had narrowed his eyes at her dressing gown and slippers. 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” she grit out. 

“Says the woman who has literally never called in sick in her life.” 

“I have too--”

“When you got turned into a cat or when you were petrified? Because neither of those--”

“When did you get turned into a cat?” Draco looked confused.

“When she brewed polyjuice potion in our second year to trick you into getting us into the Slytherin common room,” Harry was glaring at Hermione.

“You’ve got to be--” Draco looked outraged.

“Second year?” Lucius sounded impressed. 

“Why were you trying to get to  _ me?  _ Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry.

“He — Okay  _ we— _ thought you were the Heir of Slytherin.” Hermione was getting impatient with twenty questions.

“Well as flattering as that is, why--” Hermione turned and walked away, pulling a chuckling Lucius with her. She stalked into the drawing room, sitting down on the sofa and waiting for the other two to trail in after them, now bickering over the quidditch season their second year. Draco was evidently affronted that Harry thought he would let a basilisk free rather than face him on the quidditch pitch again. 

“As much as I’m sure you have to talk about, may we get back to the matter at hand so I can get Hermione back to bed?” 

Lucius’ question got Draco’s attention, who looked as if he was swallowing a particularly nasty potion, and Harry just blinked at him. 

“She’s ill, and needs to rest.” 

“Lucius, I’m f--” 

“Fourteen. Hours.” His voice took on a sharp edge, and Harry’s eyebrows disappeared under his hair. 

“Wait, you’re actually sick?” Harry looked between them, confused.

“When did you come back? I was by the damn fireplace for hours!” Draco crossed his arms petulantly. 

“Bigsy brought Hermione back late last night. She was feeling rather indisposed, so I took the liberty to owl her office this morning.” 

“And you’re okay with this?” Harry was eyeing Hermione suspiciously. “After you left my place angrier than Buckbeak--”

“That’s a low blow—“ Draco protested.

“We talked it out, we’re fine.” Hermione insisted tiredly. 

“Really? Because you were throwing sparks, and you,” Draco turned to his father, “Looked worse than when Mother--” 

“Draco,” Lucius’ tone was a solid final warning. 

“We’re fine,” Hermione reiterated. 

“You, Miss-I’m-Going-To-Hex-Ron-For-Snogging-Lavender-Sixth-Year-Granger is just over it?” 

“Harry, I’m going to hex  _ you _ if you don’t--”

“You don’t talk things out, you blow up!” Harry was on his feet now. 

“Lucius isn’t Ron, Harry. He can actually admit when he’s wrong! I don’t have to hex him!” 

“You, admitting you’re wrong? You’ve got to be kidding—“ Draco was on his feet beside Harry, looking incredulously between his father and the woman at his side.

“Draco!” Lucius sounded angry now, and Draco fell silent. Hermione reached out, smoothing her hand over Lucius’ thigh. He sighed. 

“I told you she had a temper,” Draco muttered at his father, sinking down into the chair he’d abandoned. Lucius rolled his eyes. 

“Believe it or not, I deduced that myself when you ended up in the hospital wing with a broken nose.”

“Which was bloody brilliant—” Harry chuckled, and Hermione glared at him until he retook his seat as well. 

Her head was pounding now, and she pressed against her temple again, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Harry, I’ll be staying and working from here until either you catch the Death Eaters or after the holidays, whichever comes first. Draco, don’t look so scandalized, we’re all adults. Lucius, I’m going back to bed.” 

“Your eyes were shut! I didn’t even--”

“Yes you did.” Harry shot back at Draco. Hermione cracked her eyes to see them glaring at each other. She stood, swaying slightly. Lucius was up with a protective arm around her a heartbeat later.

“Well you two have fun. Harry, don’t forget I’ll see you at breakfast Sunday, but you and Gin are coming to dinner Monday, yes it’s on your calendar and no I won’t wear the wrong colors to the game.” 

She was back out the door before Harry and Draco started bickering again. She collapsed into bed, clawing her way back to the pillows, groaning. 

“I should have stayed in bed.” 

“You need to eat before you go back to sleep, darling. Bigsy!” Hermione closed her eyes while he spoke to the house elf, cuddling Crookshanks as he settled in next to her. Next thing she knew. Lucius was stroking her back, whispering in her ear for her to wake up. She groaned, and her head pounded. 

“Eat something and take the potion, then you can go back to sleep.” She tried to sit up, but the room started spinning. She laid back, feeling vaguely nauseous. 

“I do  _ not _ feel--”

“You have the flu.” Lucius pushed a vial of pepper-up potion into her hand. “Probably because you’ve been working yourself to death.” 

“I do not--” 

“Actually you do.” Astoria’s voice came from somewhere to her left. “And Lucius is right. Your immune system is compromised, probably due to stress.” She groaned again.

“Please drink the potion, darling.” Lucius was rubbing her back again, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. “Hermione, don’t go back to sleep yet.” 

“You might be a worse patient than Draco, and that’s saying something.” Astoria grinned as Hermione sat up, glaring at her. “Much better. Now take the potion and eat something.” Hermione swallowed the potion and managed to get half a bowl of soup down before her head hit the pillow again. 

Lucius stayed beside her, watching the young witch sleep. He’d pulled Astoria in when Hermione’s fever had spiked after Harry’s visit. Thankfully the healer didn’t ask any unnecessary questions, just cast a few diagnostic spells and helped to wake her up long enough to take a pepper up and get some food in her stomach. He’d caught her watching him carefully, but she didn’t say a word about his very apparent anxieties. 

Now he was back in his black silk pajamas, sitting against the headboard with his hand in her hair just watching her breathe. He’d spent so much time with Cissa when she’d gotten sick, but she hadn’t wanted to be touched. Hermione reached out for him whenever he broke contact for more than a few seconds. 

He kept telling himself that Hermione wasn’t Narcissa, and it was just the flu, but his breath caught when he said her name and she barely responded, or worse, didn’t respond at all. 

“She’ll be fine, Lucius.” Astoria leaned against the doorframe, her black robes stark against the pale blue and gold wallpaper. Her expressive blue eyes reminded him for a younger Narcissa’s sometimes; before she’d been hurt enough to shut the world out. 

“I know Narcissa’s case backwards and forwards, and Hermione’s isn’t the same. She’s just sleep deprived and it’s harder to kick the flu when you’re already tired. Even with magic. If anything, I’d guess she finally felt safe enough to let herself be taken care of...” she fell silent, watching him stroke Hermione’s hair back from her face. 

“But I said the same thing about Rose and Draco.” Lucius lifted his eyes slowly to the willowy witch in the doorway. Her arms were crossed, but he noted how she folded her thumb over to caress the sapphire  engagement ring on her finger. 

“He made the right choice in the end.” 

“But not before I began to wonder,” she smiled sadly. “I love Rose, she’s still a friend. But I never thought—“

“Narcissa helped pick out your ring. For you.” 

Astoria’s confusion was nearly palpable from across the room as she froze. “We hadn’t even been dating—“

“It didn’t matter. We knew. We knew the first time you yelled and called him an arse in our library.” The corners of Lucius’ lips twitched up at the memory. She’d interrupted them fooling around in the library, but had been so scared of Narcissa she had no idea what she’d come dangerously close to stumbling in upon. Narcissa had found her anxiety unendingly entertaining and exploited it for months afterwards… Until Astoria had saved Draco from himself. 

Astoria just blinked at him, her mind processing what he’d shared with her. He returned to carding his fingers through Hermione’s curls, who let out a soft sigh and nuzzled closer to his thigh. He stiffened, and Astoria narrowed her eyes. The girl’s name was far too apt, in his opinion. She never missed a thing. 

“Longer than you’ve been breathing, Astoria. Let it go.” It was a command, and Lucius still expected his commands to be obeyed. She bit her lip, and dropped her eyes to the floor. 

“When she wakes up, she’ll need more pepper-up and more food. If you’re going to stay, you should take a dose too so she doesn’t make you ill as well.” She flicked her wand, and a number of vials shot in from the hallway to come to a rest on the side table. 

“I’ll check on you both in the morning before I leave.” 

“Thank you, Astoria.” He always got the impression he surprised her to no end with his appreciation. 

“You’re welcome. And Lucius?”She waited until he met her blue eyes. “I’m glad she came back. It’s nice to see you happy.”

She was gone in a swish of black, and Lucius was left with the sleeping witch and her cat, who seemed to have developed a particular fondness for getting cat hair on his person. The last cat in residence at Malfoy Manor had been his mother’s, and he smiled at the thought of her Persians against this half-kneazle creature. 

He kicked himself for showing Astoria his discomfort when Hermione had brushed his scar, even though the chances of her remembering anything with her this sick were slim. He’d have to be more careful around Astoria, or she was going to inadvertently pique Hermione’s curiosity, and that would be the end of that. Though he supposed she would find out eventually; a day he was moving slower or when he eventually took her to his bed. There would come a day that it would be bared, but he didn’t know if he could face the disgust in her eyes when it came to light. 

Hermione shifted, bringing his attention back to her. The infuriating little witch had turned his entire life upside down, and he couldn’t get enough. Her lack of fight when she found out he’d taken the three weeks off for her should have clued him in to just how sick she really was, but it was painfully clear now. 

_ Please let Astoria be correct,  _ he pleaded silently, over and over. He didn’t know what he would do if she succumbed to the same cursed illness that had taken Narcissa. He didn’t know if he would survive it. If he could, he knew enough that he wouldn’t want to. 

The book he’d brought to read lay untouched on the nightstand, and he wasn’t foolish enough to lie to himself and say he would get around to it. He would do what was necessary until she was well again, nothing more. 

***

It so happened that it took slightly longer for her to recover than any of them anticipated. Lucius stayed with her nearly the entire time, only leaving to shower and make occasional business calls, with Astoria flitting in and out before and after her shifts at St Mungo’s to check on them both. 

Thursday she’d gotten an owl from Molly, who’d heard from Harry that she was ill. Lucius had sniggered as she politely declined the invitation to stay at The Burrow until she was well. 

“Because all I need is to feel like hell with Ronald yelling at me on top of it,” she sighed as she moved on to the next letter, one from a reporter asking for a statement on her recent sightings with Lucius. That one was quickly incinerated and she didn’t even bother opening the one from  _ Witch Weekly.  _

“Perhaps a bath is in order,” he suggested later that night when she couldn’t get comfortable. She’d begrudgingly agreed only because it meant she could wash her hair properly. Cleaning charms were fine, but just not the same. Just the act of getting from the bed to the tub exhausted her, and much to Bigsy’s delight, she allowed the little house elf to wash her hair, only because she didn’t have the energy to do it herself. She climbed back into bed noting that at some point while she’d been in the bathroom, the sheets had been changed. She was rather irritated by it until Lucius rejoined her shortly thereafter, his pineapple-patchouli-vanilla scented cologne still somehow clinging to his own fresh pajamas. 

Friday she’d managed to manipulate him into reading to her, though his silky baritone had her drifting off before he’d finished the first page of  _ Les Misérables.  _ Looking back though, she was halfway certain that he’d switched to French a few sentences in. When she’d woken up hours later, he was sipping on a cup of tea with the evening edition of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ and a displeased expression. 

“What’s wrong?”

“The imbeciles at this rag they call a news publication are getting more and more complacent. They really don’t even try anymore.” He flicked it neatly closed and tossed it aside. “How are you feeling, darling?” 

“Like I’ve been hit by a train.” He passed her a fresh vial of pepper up and a cup of tea, and was unsurprised when she drifted back to sleep a while later. 

She’d fallen ill Wednesday, and it wasn’t until Saturday that she woke up not feeling like she’d been trampled by a raging hippogriff. Saturday morning she woke up to sunlight and no headache, and she sat up to see Lucius was still in a deep sleep beside her. Slipping out of bed, she padded to the bathroom and cast a silencing spell on the door so the running water didn’t wake him. She showered and Bigsy brought her a soft grey dress and navy robes. Finally dressed and feeling human again with her hair falling in tamed curls, she slipped back out into the room, and almost walked right into Astoria, who was poised to knock on the door. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to see how you were feeling.” The taller witch was in an olive green robe set, her dark hair swept up into an intricate twist. 

“I’m actually feeling loads better. I just didn’t want to wake Lucius, he—“

“Is already awake, so you may as well stop whispering.” He rolled over, a thoroughly unimpressed expression on his face. 

Astoria dropped her eyes, looking sheepish. Hermione just smiled brightly. 

“Good morning to you too!” He rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Someone is feeling better,” he observed dryly. She grinned, and Astoria smoothed her hands over her robes. 

“Well then my work is done. Just in time too, I have an appointment with Cassia in a few minutes. I was going to ask if she’s doing yours too.”

“We’re having dinner with them tonight as long as Hermione is still feeling up to it, but yes Cassia will be doing hers as well.” 

“Doing my what?” Hermione looked between the two, confused. 

“Your dress for the ball. Cassia’s the best of the best, after all. But since she’s doing yours, I was thinking we could schedule our fittings together and maybe do lunch, just the two of us.”

“Hold on, I didn’t—“

“We’ll talk about it in a moment, my dear.” She glared at Lucius, but his eyes were closed. 

“Lunch sounds great, Tori. Thank you.” She smiled, and took her leave. Hermione approached the bed, her arms crossed. “I haven’t even considered a dress yet.”

“I know. Which is why Cassia is thrilled to be making yours for you. Anthony said she can’t wait.” 

“Wait,  _ making  _ it? That has to cost a—“ 

“Hermione, it’s my gift to you. Don’t fret over it.” He finally opened his eyes again, and with him looking up from his back at her, she couldn’t even argue with him. 

“Thank you. But this is not going to become a habit, Lucius.”

“Of course not. But it’s our first big event together, and hostess or not you’ll be on my arm and it’s my prerogative to make sure you feel like the most beautiful witch in the room.” A smile played at his lips, and she couldn’t help herself, bending over the bed and kissing him lightly. 

“Mmm. I missed that.” She kissed him deeper, relishing the feeling of his hair between her fingers and his arms snaking around her waist. She squealed when his arms tightened, pulling her forward, off balance and over him until she was in bed next to him again. 

“Lucius!” She was giggling and failing to admonish him. 

“I’m so relieved that you’ve recovered.” It was a whisper against her temple, and she laughed. 

“It was just the flu. I’m fine!” He was quiet, but his arms stiffened around her. “Lucius?” She pulled back and met his eyes. The sorrow, grief, and regret that mingled there took her breath away. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” 

He closed his eyes, and apprehension knotted her stomach, and her heart hammered in her ears. Why was he so worked up over the sniffles? 

“It started just like that for Narcissa,” he breathed finally. “The fatigue, then a headache… Followed by sleeping for long periods and not eating…” His arms tightened fractionally, and she realized she wasn’t breathing. 

“Lucius, I’m so sorry…” She was, and she didn’t know what else to say. He opened his eyes, and she took him in, reaching up and cupping her hand around his jaw. The pain in his eyes made her own chest ache for his loss. 

“I’m just so relieved that you’ve recovered.” His voice sounded strangled, like his throat was tight or he was fighting back tears. It took Hermione’s breath away, and she laced her fingers through his. He held on tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling through his nose. Finally he opened his eyes, having gained control of his emotions once more. 

“You should go on to breakfast. I’ll dress and be down shortly.” So he hadn’t missed her stomach rumbling. He kissed the end of her nose and threw the covers back, standing up out of bed. The static from the sheets combined with the silk of his pajamas meant that they clung very closely to his muscular back and toned legs. Hermione watched appreciatively as he walked to the door. 

Without even looking back, he chuckled. “You’re drooling.” 

She blushed, and waited until she heard the “click” of the next door down before throwing herself from bed, and hurrying down to the dining room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Astoria means “like a hawk,” and I’ve intentionally written her to be very observant for that reason. 
> 
> So what did you think?! I live for your comments and kudos!


	21. Actions

December 16, 2006

“She lives. Think Potter will let you borrow his nickname?” Draco was sipping coffee with the  _ Prophet _ spread out before him. She scowled at him, taking her customary place to the left of the head of the table. “No? Guess I’ll have to stick with Golden Girl Granger. Or Gryffindor Princess, but I’m fond of alliteration.” 

“Good morning to you too, Draco,” she grit out. He smirked, laying the paper down. Hermione poured herself a cup of coffee, and selected a banana from the bowl between them. At Draco’s smirk, she flushed, trading it for a red delicious apple. He leaned forward and plucked a Granny Smith from the bowl, and turned it over in his hands. 

“So tell me, Granger. What other nefarious deeds did the Perfect Princess Prefect get up to while we were at Hogwarts?” 

She waited until he had taken a bite of apple before answering. “I set Snape on fire once.” 

Predictably, he choked. Bits of green and white apple flesh sprayed the table, and she smirked, a shield charm keeping her breakfast out of the splash zone. 

“You didn’t,” he gasped, eyes watering. 

“First year,” she said lightly, flicking through the pile of correspondence left at Lucius’ place. One caught her attention, and she pulled it loose. 

“Second year you already know about the polyjuice… Third year I was out on the grounds with Remus when he transformed, rescuing Buckbeak. Fourth year…” she stopped, Draco’s mouth hanging open now. 

“In my defense, it was a bit of work to keep Harry alive… and Buckbeak was Dumbledore’s idea, I just happened to be the one with a time turner.” 

“Forget I asked,” he grumbled, taking another bite of apple. She eyed it. “What’s with the apples?” His eyebrows drew together as he chewed and swallowed. 

“What about them?” 

“It got to be a bit of a joke, you had to have known.” 

“Because I like apples?” 

“Eighth year I don’t think I ever saw you without one in your hand. Grace—“

“Rose,” he corrected automatically. 

“Sorry, she uses Grace at work.  _ Rose  _ almost always had one too.” 

“She hates green apples…” understanding dawned on him, and he chuckled. “That’s where all the bloody apples came from. She told me I was a masochist for liking tart fruit and after that I kept finding them everywhere. In my robes, my bag, sometimes on my desk. It must’ve been her.” 

“Masochistic might be a bit far… But not by much.” 

“I’ve always liked them. I never thought about it.” He shrugged carelessly and took another bite. 

“Probably because for a solid six months of Narcissa’s pregnancy with you, they were all she could eat.” 

Hermione felt an uncomfortable twinge at Lucius’ casual mention of Narcissa’s pregnancy. Lucius took his seat, plucking the forgotten letter from Hermione’s hand. 

“Hey!” Hermione lunged for it. 

“I believe that’s my name, darling.” Sure enough, it read, “Malfoy Manor, Care of Lucius Malfoy.” 

She blushed once more. “I didn’t get that far. I just saw the handwriting.” He raised an eyebrow. “If she wanted an answer, she wrote me, not Ronald. Honestly even Ginny wasn’t much better…” He set the letter aside, flicking through the other envelopes, pulling one free and passing it to her. 

The handwriting on the envelope was equally, if not more familiar than Molly’s; it was Ginny’s. She tore it open, and scanned over it quickly. “Oh thank Merlin,” she murmured. 

At Lucius’ look, she explained, “Ginny’s freeing me from any obligation to go to the match between being ill and the Death Eater business, but says they’ll be here for dinner Monday night for sure.” 

“Obligation?” Draco rolled his eyes. “Because going to a quidditch match is so difficult.” 

“I’m not a quidditch fan unless someone I love is playing, and even then…” she trailed off, catching Lucius’ bemused expression as he read Molly’s letter. 

“What? Is she checking to make sure I made it out alive?” Hermione was a bit nervous to find out what the Weasley matriarch had to say to Lucius. 

“On the contrary. She’s invited me to Sunday breakfast.” Hermione choked on her apple, spewing red and white chunks across the table much as Draco had, while Draco cackled from his seat. 

“Honestly, you both…” Lucius flicked his wand, vanishing the apple particles. 

“You don’t have to come,” Hermione gasped, still coughing on her apple. He raised his eyebrow once again, and she shook her head. “If you don’t want to, or would be uncomfortable.” She knew Molly was a big believer in “actions speak louder than words,” but this was.. A really very  _ big  _ action from her. 

“Would you prefer I not?”

“No! No, I just… Ron… And I know Arthur—“

“Arthur actually approached me last week, and as for The youngest Mr Weasley…” Draco snickered again. “I don’t believe he would dare make you and his mother angry at once.” Draco sobered. 

“I bloody well wouldn’t,” he said, eyeing the small witch across the table. Lucius looked between them, and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Severus was fine! It really barely singed his robes.” 

“But you set him on  _ fire.  _ At  _ eleven.”  _

“And as I recall at eleven you were still running around squealing ‘my father will hear about this!’ at every turn, so can we agree to let it go?” 

Lucius hid his smirk behind another letter, while Draco glared at her from across the table. 

***

“Help me with my dress?” Hermione came to stand in front of Lucius, her dress’s zipper hanging open to expose her back. She thought he heard his breath catch, but she wasn’t about to turn around to find out. This was the boldest she’d gotten, and she was still in an internal debate on whether or not it was a good idea. 

The electricity at his fingers brushing down her spine had her mind going blank, followed quickly by her knees going weak at a hot, open-mouthed kiss at the base of her neck. As quickly as it started, it ended with her zipper pulled into place. 

He chuckled at her gasp and moan, leaning over her shoulder to kiss her cheek. “We don’t want to keep Anthony and Cassia waiting.” 

Right. Dinner. 

She turned to face him, looking appreciatively over his burgundy waistcoat under his grey robes. Her own sheath dress was a deep forest green, and she paused, groaning. 

“We look like a bloody Christmas nightmare. I have to change.” She turned to call Bigsy, but he caught her arm. 

“No time, and it’s fine. You look absolutely beautiful. They won’t look twice at me, I promise.” 

She was still questioning her dress choice when she followed Lucius through the floo, stepping out into a large, airy entryway. Lucius reached out for her just as Anthony stepped into view. 

“Lucius, Hermione! Come in, come in. Hermione, this is my wife, Cassia. Cassia, Hermione Granger.” A tall woman with inky black, glossy curls and equally dark eyes smiled warmly.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Hermione.” Hermione couldn’t place her accent, but it made her seem even warmer and more inviting. Hermione immediately liked the witch. Not surprising, considering her husband and son. “Hello, Lucius.” She turned her dark eyes to the tall man, who gave her an easy smile. 

“Cassia. You look ravishing, as always.” He wasn’t wrong. The woman wore a clingy dress in a burnished bronze that made her golden skin and dark eyes and hair positively glow. She had voluptuous curves that would have made the Venus de Milo jealous, and Hermione had the feeling though the woman knew it, she wasn’t the catty type. 

She was obviously pleased with the flattery, but rolled her eyes. “Says the man with this lovely creature on his arm.” As she ushered them into a comfortable sitting room, Hermione caught sight of several photos of their family over the years, smiling and waving into the camera. She smiled, thinking it had been a while since she’d seen Axios. She wondered offhandedly if he’d won over Viv yet. 

Cassia settled on a sofa, Anthony beside her with his arm thrown casually around her shoulders. Lucius and Hermione took similar positions on the opposite sofa, and Anthony waved his wand, wine glasses hovering over to each of them. Cassia took a sip, and turned back to Hermione, eyeing her carefully. 

“Have you put any thought into what you want for your gown?” 

Hermione blanched. She’d completely forgotten that Cassia was the one making her ballgown. Lucius came to her rescue. 

“Hermione may be taking her place as hostess, so something tasteful and classic would be best.” She nodded thoughtfully. 

“Come with me, dear.” She stood, holding a hand out for Hermione. Lucius nodded encouragingly, so she took her hand, following her down the hall into what Hermione assumed was her workshop. She pointed out several rough sketches pinned to the wall. 

“I’ll get your measurements after dinner, but this is what I had in mind based on what Lucius told me. Do you see anything you like?” 

Hermione looked at the sketches, and felt even more at a loss. They were each exquisite, each more detailed than the last. 

“Wow.” That wasn’t anything else to say. She looked up at the woman, who smiled broadly. “There’s no way I could choose one of these. They’re… they’re amazing.”

“Think about it over dinner, dear. Though I think…” she plucked one down from towards the center from the wall. “Lucius would be partial to this one.” It was the same one her eyes kept straying to, and she smiled. This woman was something else. 

Dinner was lovely, and Hermione learned that Cassia was Greek, and Anthony, as a solicitor for the International Trade department at the Ministry, spent much of his time in France and Spain, accounting for his tan and sun-bleached hair. They were easy company, and it was interesting to Lucius so relaxed around someone besides herself. Even with Draco and Astoria he maintained a certain proprietary air; with them, he was just a man among friends. It was refreshing, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. 

His silvery eyes seemed to sparkle a bit more, and his smile was brighter, wider. She had to restrain herself from reaching out and brushing his hair back and kissing him every time he turned his smile to her. 

She did manage to catch a few knowing glances that Anthony and Cassia traded, and when the two witches wandered back to her work room, Cassia smiled smugly. 

“I never thought I would see Lucius in love again.” 

Hermione blushed. “We haven’t been together long. I don’t know that he’s—“

“Time is irrelevant, dear. Anthony and I were married a month after we met, and here we are, over thirty years later. My dear son, on the other hand… It's been over a decade and he still hasn’t told her… Though according to his letter today he thinks he ruined it. I told him to apologize and all would be well, but you know men.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Though Lucius is a man whose actions speak louder than his words.”

Hermione blinked away tears. He hadn’t left her side during her illness, despite how difficult it must’ve been for him to watch her mimic Narcissa’s decline. He’d asked her to take the place at his side as hostess because the action would cement her solidly with him. He’d done everything he could to make her comfortable in his home, even made sure their first (and only?) date had been somewhere familiar and comfortable… 

Cassia made notes and measurements as Hermione’s thoughts tangled around in her head. 

“All done dear. You’ll come in with Astoria for the final fitting the week before the ball.” Hermione blinked. That was it? 

“Just like magic,” she winked, taking her hand and pulled her back into the sitting room. Her heart raced when Lucius pressed a kiss to her temple, almost automatically as she sat beside him. Hermione watched in amusement as Anthony did the same to Cassia, both men continuing their conversation about dragonhide imports without skipping a beat. 

Cassia and Hermione shared a smile, and before she knew it, she was nodding off against Lucius’ shoulder. 

“We should be going, Hermione is still recovering.” 

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but Lucius was already standing and pulling her to her feet. 

“We’ll see you after Christmas, dear. It was so lovely to have you both.” Cassia beamed at them, with Anthony looked exceptionally pleased behind her. Lucius was chuckling as he urged her through the floo.

***

She’d barely managed to stay awake long enough to change into one of Lucius’ pajama tops and climb between the Egyptian cotton sheets. When Lucius came in, sliding in next to her, she gravitated towards him and did her best impression of the great squid, essentially locking him in place til morning, and he couldn’t have been more content.

The next morning Lucius awoke to a small hand against his stomach, under his pajama shirt. He briefly wondered if she was teasing him, but he cracked his eyes to find her still sleeping deeply, tucked in the crook of his arm. He relaxed, settling back into the pillows and brushed his fingers over the silk that covered her hip and the curve of her waist. 

Except… that wasn’t silk. His fingers brushed the hem of the shirt bunched up around her waist, and he bit his lip to keep from groaning. Her skin was so smooth beneath his touch, reminding him just how long it had been since he had been with a woman. His body was emphatically insisting that it was time, but his ego and insecurities were arguing the opposite. 

Not that it would matter if she kept moving her hand like  _ that _ . He pressed his free hand over hers, holding it still lest her electric touch caused him to embarrass himself. He was already stepping into the weasel den this morning; he didn’t need the memory of a premature ejaculation over her sleeping form on top of it. 

Once he thought he was collected enough, he attempted to disentangle his limbs from hers, but she held on like a niffler to a new galleon. 

And then she giggled. 

“How long have you been awake?” His exasperation was mitigated by the surge of affection for the mischievous witch still wrapped around him. 

“Since you started tickling me.” She wiggled her hips against his hand, and by extension his leg that she was still pressed against. She turned her eyes up to his, her impish smile nearly undoing him completely. 

“And you refused to let me get up because…?” 

“Because I like you like this. When it’s just you and me and the rest of the world doesn’t have to exist yet. When I can reach out and feel your heartbeat…”

“Such a romantic,” he teased, and she smiled. 

“I can also do this.” The hand on his stomach moved to his waist, and curled into claws. He yelped and laughed until he couldn’t breathe under her merciless tickling. She stopped, propping herself up on an elbow as he caught his breath. She looked all too pleased with herself, and at the edge of his mind he wondered when the last time he had been _tickled_ actually was. 

“You wicked little witch,” he hissed at her, but his eyes sparkled and he couldn’t keep the smile at bay. “You might very well be the death of me.” 

“I prefer to think I bring you a bit of life,” she grinned unapologetically, leaning in to kiss him. 

The light kiss lengthened and deepened, the last several days’ worth of emotion boiling down to this moment of need. His need to know she was safe and well, her need to know of his willingness to be open with her. It culminated in their shared need of each other. Chestnut curls mingled with platinum strands of silk, black silk of their pajamas like shadows against the pale blue sheets. 

“Lucius…” it was a whisper against his lips, and he almost agreed, until a twinge in his hip reminded him that it might end their love before it truly began, and he couldn’t risk it. Not yet. 

“We’ll be late for breakfast.” One last slow, sensual kiss and he was withdrawing, much to her obvious frustration. 

“You say I’ll be the death of you…” she grumbled, and he smirked at her. 

“When we’re ready, I won’t be letting you out of my bed for a  _ very _ long time, and I don’t think the Weasleys would understand. Well I suppose based on how many children—“ 

“Okay I get it,” she laughed. “I’m going to go take a very cold shower and get dressed. What are you wearing?” 

He arched a pale eyebrow. Now she was concerned with _his_ wardrobe? This was an interesting development, indeed. 

“I don’t want to look like another Christmas disaster,” she muttered defensively. “They will notice and they  _ will  _ say something.” 

“What would you like me to wear, darling?” She considered for a moment. 

“I like you in blue. It looks nice with your eyes.” 

“Then blue it shall be. Go get ready, darling.” He waited until she was in the bathroom before adjusting himself and standing, letting the ache in his leg remind him exactly why he was not joining her in the shower. She was most certainly going to be the death of him, and if not, he needed to prepare himself to be eaten alive by Weasels... Oh, the things he was willing to do for his witch... Though he supposed he may need to correct himself before he called them that within her earshot. That _would_ be the death of him, of that he had no doubt.


	22. Impersonations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Hermione venture to the Burrow for Sunday breakfast

They stepped out of the floo into Molly’s hectic kitchen, Hermione’s fingers firmly laced through his. He wore deep ocean blue, like she asked, while she thought she looked passable in light grey. Happily, it was Harry to greet them first, with Arthur right behind him. 

She could see the tension in the Weasley patriarch’s face, but as Lucius allowed himself to be “shoo’d” from the kitchen by Molly, it lessened somewhat. The next obstacle was passing through the dining room, where George, Angelina, Audrey, Percy, and several of the children were being fed before the adults sat down. They nodded politely, but Audrey’s eyes bore into their backs as they passed into the sitting room to join Bill, Fleur, and Ginny, the last of which was glaring daggers at Ron. 

Louis was wailing in his father’s arms until they came in. He stopped crying abruptly, laser focused on the newcomers. Bill and Fleur looked relieved, and smiled gratefully at them. 

“He’s been screaming for hours,” Bill sighed. Hermione reached out for the child, who went happily, at least until Hermione stepped over to give Ginny a hug; he promptly started screaming again. The further Hermione got from Lucius, the louder the child screamed, reaching out with one chubby hand to the wizard, who looked only mildly surprised. 

“May I?” Jaws around the room dropped as he gestured to the screaming infant. Bill nodded wide-eyed, as Lucius deftly plucked him from Hermione’s grasp and Louis settled against his broad chest, cooing happily. 

He rolled his eyes at Hermione’s shock, ignoring the others completely. “Considering how much time you spend bickering with Draco, you shouldn’t be so surprised. He was very attached, or does ‘my father will hear about this’ not ring any bells?” Hermione’s immediate, hysterical laughter at his spot on impersonation of his son broke the tension. Arthur, Harry and Ginny were the next to laugh, quickly followed by Bill and Fleur. Even Ron chuckled, though he looked the most shocked of all. 

“Please tell me you’ve done that to his face,” Harry was nearly doubled over, hanging on to Ginny to stay upright. 

“Of course not,” Lucius replied haughtily. “It would be much less fun at parties if he knew.” Fresh gales of laughter rolled through the room, and he smirked, giving Hermione a stealthy wink. She grinned, leaning into his side. His humanity was showing, if not his smile, and it looked good on him. She liked to think she was partially responsible, but she couldn’t deny it was his choice to come with her to an event that was less class and more chaos. 

“Dad, can you do that with any of us?” Bill turned to Arthur, who’s ears went a bit pink. He cleared his throat, and in a perfect impersonation of Percy said, “We need to standardise cauldron thickness. Some of these imports are just a bit too thin! Leaks are increasing at a rate of almost five percent—“

“It was  _ three  _ percent,” Percy sniffed from the doorway, George howling in delight behind him. 

The room exploded in laughter again, and Percy opened his mouth to a chorus of, “We know, Percy!” He huffed, snatching up his oldest son from the floor. 

“Daddy was right, you know,” he whispered to the toddler, stalking back into the dining room. Molly appeared a moment later, announcing it was time to eat. 

The impersonations continued through breakfast. Ginny did an excellent one of Dolores Umbridge, Angelina spouted what seemed to be a well received one of a quidditch player by the name of Oliver Wood, and Audrey threw one out of McGonagall’s Scottish brogue. 

Lucius was seated at the end of one bench between Arthur at the head of the table and Hermione to his left, still cradling Louis in his free arm between them. The child was now sleeping soundly, drool pooling in the crease of Lucius’ fine blue robes. Hermione glanced over at him regularly, as if to check that he was still there, or perhaps to check that he wasn’t about to hex someone, she wasn’t quite sure which. Maybe it was just the sight of a baby in his arms, or that despite the extreme differences between a quiet dinner with the Fairviews last night, where he was relaxed and unguarded, and breakfast with the Weasley hoard where his stoic mask was firmly in place, she loved both sides equally. 

He was currently deep in conversation with Arthur and Percy, while she and Audrey were arguing with Bill and George over a new Weasley Wizards Wheezes product. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Angelina were still doing impersonations further down the table. She thought all was going well until Ron piped up. 

“‘Mione do yours of Bellatrix!” She froze, the blood draining from her face. 

“Ronald!” Molly’s sharp rebuke came a moment too late; the table had fallen dead silent. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Lucius, who had stiffened at the name. 

“Ronald. Outside.  _ Now _ .” Hermione’s hand was white around the handle of her wand, and she was out of her seat before Lucius could shift the child to grab her hand. The sudden movement woke Louis, and he started to fuss. 

“Let her go,” Arthur whispered just loud enough for Lucius to hear as they watched her drag Ron out by his collar. Harry was the next one out of his chair, Ginny sharing a look with her mother. Curious eyes were now turning to him, and he stood, rocking the child to calm him. He calmed quickly, wrapping a fat fist in Lucius’ hair as he retook his seat. 

“Arthur I believe you were saying…”   
  


***

“Ronald Bilius Weasley you complete and utter arse!” It was taking every bit of her self control not to hex him. 

“‘Mione I didn’t—“

“SHUT UP. FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE JUST SHUT UP.” Harry stood back a few feet, arms crossed and green eyes angry as he watched his two friends. 

Ron looked pale, though he usually did when he found himself on the business end of Hermione’s wand when she was angry. 

“You are going to stand there, and you’re going to listen, and you’re not going to say a fucking word, got it?” He nodded shakily. 

“I have  _ had it _ with you and your pig-headed, prejudiced ways. Of the people at that table, it’s  _ you _ that still needs to change. If he can change enough that I can fall in bloody love with him, you can find it within yourself to hold your tongue for one fucking meal!” 

“You’re in love—“

“NOT ANOTHER WORD,” she snarled, bringing her wand back up. 

His blue eyes widened, but he fell silent as tears streaked her face. 

“You don’t get to take this away from me! I was so hopelessly in love with you, and you moved on! You chose someone else. So now that I’ve finally found someone, someone that makes me really, truly, incredibly happy, you don’t get to take that too! You had your chance, and it’s gone. I spent too long waiting for you to realize that I was there waiting, and I’m not waiting any longer.” 

His mouth dropped open, doing a fair impersonation of a wide mouth bass. He looked to Harry, who still glared at him. 

“You think she’s been single all this time because she wanted to be? You think Gin’s been trying to set her up because she can’t get a date? You arse.” Harry pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“‘Mione, go inside. I’ve got him.” 

Hermione wiped the tears from her face and paused at the door. From where she was standing, she could see Lucius sitting at the table with his back to her, a tiny, pudgy hand peeking up over his shoulder, tangled in his hair. Her chest ached when she finally allowed herself to ask the question she’d been running from since he took the child from her arms. If they stayed together, would he want more kids? He was so good with them, and Hermione’s heart couldn’t take it if they weren’t on the same page. 

Arthur caught her eye, and gave her a small smile. Sweet, lovely Arthur. She wondered if her own father would be as accepting as Arthur had been. She didn’t know what he’d said to Lucius, but whatever it was, they were clearly putting aside their differences for her. She just wished Ron could do the same. 


	23. Necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Hermione have a lot to talk about

She slid back into her place beside Lucius, relieved that the chatter hadn’t died down when she reappeared. 

“We’ll discuss it later,” Lucius murmured, and she nodded, still not looking at him. She couldn’t tell how angry he was, and if she saw now, she’d cry at the table. Instead she turned to Audrey, who gripped Hermione’s knee under the table, to ask how she was feeling now the news was public that she was in the second trimester of her third pregnancy.

“If it’s a girl, we’re calling her Hazel,” Audrey smiled at her husband, who swallowed hard. Hermione felt fresh tears well up. This family had been through so much. 

“And if it’s a boy?” Angelina chimed in from the other side of the table. 

“Danny said he’d hex me if we used his name, so we’re still trying to find a boy’s name,” Audrey laughed. Her brother, Dan, had been a Slytherin a year or two ahead of Hermione. 

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Molly beamed at her daughter in law. The rest of them started chiming in with potential baby names, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She should have thought ahead better when she asked. 

She settled on beginning to clear the table, conscious of Lucius’ eyes on her as she moved between the kitchen at the table, rather than hovering the dishes in with magic. 

Angelina and Fleur joined her, once the part-Veela witch was assured in both English and French twice over that Lucius was fine holding Louis. Molly cornered Hermione in the back corner of the kitchen, giving her a tight hug and apologizing for Ron’s poor behavior.

“It’s fine, Molly, really. I can’t promise I won’t hex him over the table if he does it again though.” 

“If he does it again, I’ll hex him myself,” the matronly witch sniffed indignantly. “You‘ll still be coming for Christmas, right dear?” 

Hermione paused. She hadn’t even thought about it in the chaos of the last week. 

“Lucius is invited of course. His son, too.” Molly’s blue eyes were pleading. She was afraid Ron was going drive Hermione away forever. Truth be told, he was dangerously close to doing just that. 

“I’ll need to talk to Lucius, but I’ll let you know either way.” If Lucius wasn’t going to call it quits after this, that was. With Molly placated for the time being, she turned her attention to the dishes, trying to steel herself for the conversations to come. 

“Hermione, you have to see this.” George beckoned from the door. 

“If it’s one of your jokes, I’m really not in the mood,” she complained as she was led through the dining room towards the family room. George slung his arm around her shoulders. 

“Even I didn’t see this one coming, sis.” George’s affectionate term made her heart hurt. He’d started calling her that when she and Ron had started dating, but hadn’t stopped when they broke up. 

She stopped dead in the doorway. Lucius still had Louis in one arm, but George’s son Freddy had climbed into his lap as well as he sat across a battered old chessboard from… Ron? Arthur was sitting to Lucius’ side, Dominique in his arms. Harry was next to Ron, holding Victoire with a large stuffed dragon, probably a gift from Charlie. Peter, Percy’s oldest, was coloring beneath the table while Anna, Percy’s second child, was draped over Ron’s lap. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she took in the four men that meant the most to her in the world all sitting together, surrounded by a hoard of children that adored them. Ginny came up behind her, snapping a photo over Hermione’s head. 

“We’re never going to see them all getting along like this again,” she whispered. 

“The kids will mellow out as they get older,” George whispered back. “We all did… kind of.”

“She meant the men,” Hermione laughed, wiping tears away. “Ron…?” She looked to Ginny. 

“Dad volun-told him, but he didn’t make a fuss. Pretty sure he thought chess was a better alternative to half the household hexing him,” George snickered. 

Ginny grinned at her old friend’s raised eyebrow. “He’s quite the charmer when he’s not trying to kill us.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying he’s winning us over. In fact I’m pretty sure he’s Bill’s new favorite person just for getting Louis to sleep for a bit.” 

Hermione shook her head as Ginny and George drifted off, hovering in the doorway, unsure if she should approach or not. Arthur was the first to notice her, looking up when Dominique reached out for Hermione. He smiled at her, standing and opening an arm for her. He gave her a quick hug, passing the child to her at the same time. 

“Do you want to read a book with Auntie Hermione? Yes, let’s go read a book.” She sat cross legged in a chair with Dominique cradled in her lap, summoning a stack of children’s book from the shelf. 

Soon the other children were migrating over, sprawling over the arms of the chair, and sitting at her feet. Peter even laid across the back of the armchair, his chin on Hermione’s shoulder as she read. She was fairly certain Lucius was glancing at her with some regularity, but she refused to look at him.

Nearly an hour later, Lucius and Ron were still facing off over the board, Harry and Arthur having been replaced by Angelina and Percy. Someone had finally relieved Lucius of the infant, though his sleeve still had a damp spot from his drool. The older kids finally got bored with story time, and Hermione took the opportunity to step out into the porch for some fresh air, where she found Bill and Arthur. 

They’d thrown up a warming charm over the mismatched rocking chairs, and she took the last empty one beside Arthur at Bill’s offer. They kept talking, and Hermione sat back, closing her eyes. She was stalling talking to or even looking at Lucius. This morning had brought up multiple issues she didn’t want to talk about, but she knew were necessary conversations. 

Arthur and Bill fell silent, and shortly afterwards the door to the house opened and closed, and she kept her eyes tightly shut, waiting for something to clue her in on who had come or gone. She assumed the footsteps were Bill’s, leaving her and Arthur alone. When the silence pressed on, the only sound the gentle rocking of Arthur’s chair beside her against the worn wood porch, she spoke. 

“I should say this more often, but thank you for acting as my father even though you definitely didn’t need to.” 

“If you see me as your father, we have more to discuss,” came the reply. She sat bolt upright, nearly sliding from the chair completely, much to Lucius’ amusement. “Though I’m sure Arthur would appreciate the sentiment.” She felt her cheeks burn, and her throat tighten. 

“Lucius…” she sat back in the chair, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. You have every right to be angry, and I—” 

“Hermione, darling. Please look at me.” He was gentle, but firm. 

It took her longer than her inner Gryffindor would have liked, but she met his eyes. She didn’t see any of the anger there she’d expected, but she was sure as this conversation went on, it would come out eventually. 

“I’m not angry. Confused, even a little intrigued, but not angry. I was caught off guard, as much by your reaction as by his question.” 

She nodded, looking away. She couldn’t see the disappointment for this next part. 

“I had to act as her. To get into her vault.”

“Where you then destroyed the building and freed a dragon, I remember.”

“It was awful. I hated every second of it and he still thinks it’s funny.” Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat. “He always was bad at reading the room.” 

Lucius snorted, but didn’t say anything. She let the silence stretch out, staring over the snow-covered garden until she couldn’t stop it. It was too soon, they hadn’t talked about the future, but she had to know. It would consume her if she didn’t. 

“Do you want more children?” She held her breath, waiting for the adamant “yes,” or the demand to know if she insane for assuming they had that kind of future. Merlin what was she thinking bringing this up now? It was heavy baggage that she really didn’t need to unpack on the Weasley’s porch. 

“This is not the time nor the place I expected nor wanted to have this conversation, but out of necessity…” he sighed. “Do you want children?” 

Here was her moment of truth, and try as she might, she couldn’t look at him. Not if she was going to tell him the painful secret that haunted her. This truth had driven Ron from her grasp, and if it was going to lose her Lucius too, she swore she’d kill Dolohov herself. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears away. 

“If you do want more children, then we should end it now. Before…” she was going to lie. But she’d already told the truth to Ron and Harry. There was no more ‘before I fall in love with you,’ because she already had. 

“Before it hurts one of us.” By ‘one of us,’ she meant her. Because that’s what had happened last time, and she didn’t know if she could handle it again. She glanced up ever so briefly to see his brow furrowed, obviously confused. So she explained. 

“In the Department of Mysteries… Dolohov hit me with a curse. It incapacitated me, but also took away my ability to bear children. I can’t, even if I wanted to.” 

Lucius was quiet, and she took a shuddering breath. “It’s why things didn’t work out with Ron. When it all sunk in after the war, he called it off. He wanted children, so he decided to date someone that could give him that. I’ve told myself for years that it’s better this way, that I didn’t love him like that. I don’t now, but I did. For a long time.” More tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“I think it’s why he’s so nasty to you. Not just because of our pasts, but because he’s realizing that I’m not still hung up over him, that his “plan B” is gone. I don’t think his mentioning Bellatrix was on purpose, he just doesn’t think. But the rest of it…” She bit her lip, eyes still shut tight.

“Hermione, look at me.” The commanding tone of voice was back, and it took her even longer to look up than it had the first time. 

“I have Draco. I never planned on having more children. If you had said that you wanted them, I would have gladly said yes. But I don’t want you as a broodmare, darling. Children or no children, it doesn’t matter to me. You are worth so much more than your ability to bear children.”

His silver eyes bore into hers, and she saw a flash of anger. It was gone a second later, and he reached up to wipe away some of her tears, his hand heartbreakingly gentle as he cupped her jaw. 

“I’m of half a mind to go hex the youngest Mr Weasley, but seeing as I just beat him in chess, that would just be kicking a dog while he’s down.” His lips twitched up in a small smile. “Though part of me wonders if I should thank him for being the idiot that didn’t steal you while he had the chance.” 

The tears were falling thicker and faster now, and she wasn’t sure if she believed what she’d heard. 

“But you’re so good with them,” she sniffed, motioning towards the window behind them. He dropped his hand, and she immediately ached for his touch.

“It’s significantly easier when they’re not your own,” he chuckled, his mask coming down a bit for the first time since they stepped into the floo that morning. “I’m perfectly happy to play grandfather to Draco and Astoria’s when they get around to it. I expect I won’t lose as much sleep.” 

She blinked, surprised enough that the tears stopped. 

“I always assumed Draco had a nanny. Or ten.” 

“Oh he did. But Cissa was fiercely protective, and if she was up, I was up.” He smiled. “His nursery was close to my study, so I could pop over and see him as often as I liked. He was a very clingy child, and sometimes I was the only one that could stop his crying. Especially while he was teething.” 

Hermione smiled, thinking of Lucius as a young father. He stood, reaching out for her hand. She took it, and allowed him to pull her into a tight embrace. She felt the relief flood her body, and for the thousandth time, thanked her lucky stars that Lucius wasn’t Ronald. 

He wiped away the rest of her tears, and kissed the top of her head while she kept her face buried in his chest, the relief from the weight that had been lifted from her shoulders almost dizzying. 

“Aww. Just remember everyone can see you through that window so don’t get handsy.” 

“George!” Hermione ducked around Lucius to see the man grinning from ear to ear. 

“Mum wants to know if you’re staying for lunch. Gin said to let you have your moment but I’m bloody starving—“ he ducked away from Hermione’s jelly leg jinx, laughing, and stumbled back out the door a moment later, the evidence of one of Ginny’s bat-bogey hexes flying from his nose. 

“Thanks Gin,” she called through the open door, tightening her grip on Lucius. 

“This place is a madhouse,” he muttered as a bat flew past his right ear. 

“And that is the understatement of the century,” she laughed, surging up to land a kiss on the corner of his jaw. 

“We saw that,” came Bill’s laugh. 

“William Arthur Weasley, leave them alone and get away from the window,” Arthur’s yell was muffled, and from experience, Hermione knew he was probably in the dining room. Leave it to Arthur to be the one to try to give them some privacy. 

“So are we staying for lunch?” She smiled up at him, and he smirked. 

“Only if I get to scandalize someone else by doing this,” and he kissed her, long and sweet. Somehow he managed to convey in one kiss that he really meant she was worth so much more to him than more children would be. 

Hermione was still blushing when they passed George, moaning about his nose, and a sour-faced Ron who was standing at the chessboard, in full view of the window. She ignored him to smile up at Lucius, who she was fairly sure knew exactly was on the other side of the window when he’d kissed her. 

“Was that really necessary?” She couldn’t keep a straight face. He waved it off, his mask of proprietary solemnity back in place. 

“I believe kissing you well is always a necessity, darling.” Angelina and Audrey nodded enthusiastically from behind him, and she laughed, taking her seat to Lucius’ left with Harry on her other side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all got a second chapter for the day! Sooo much baggage to unpack with these two... this is just the beginning!
> 
> Also: Hermione and Arthur’s relationship is one of my favorite things that we’ll see more of later.


	24. Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more light-hearted chapter to offset “Saying Goodbyes” in Dragons and Roses. Enjoy!

They’d survived lunch at The Burrow, and had come back to the Manor thoroughly exhausted and rather relieved to have a quiet dinner with just the two of them. Draco and Astoria were off at a movie night with Caroline and Pansy, so after dinner they retired to his study, with Hermione nodding off on the sofa not long after. 

Lucius watched her sleep, his book and a glass of wine forgotten. The day had not brought about the issues he’d thought it would have. He’d expected more resistance from the Weasley family, though apparently they thought that babies were like dogs in that they were good judges of character. Once he’d picked up the veela’s child, the entire family had melted like butter. 

Except the youngest boy. Ronald. The one that had thrown away his chances with a witch of worth because her uterus was more important than her heart or mind. Idiot boy. He was the epitome of what Severus would have called a ‘dunderhead.’ 

Lucius had seen how his shoulders tensed every time Hermione had reached for Lucius, or Lucius had touched Hermione. The look on his face when Arthur had said, “Lucius, you still play chess, right? Ron is always looking for a worthy opponent. Why don’t you stay for a match?” Well, that expression had been golden. 

He’d had to start doing mental arithmancy calculations to keep from laughing at the indignation plastered across his face. Potter had been standing behind his friend, looking at Arthur like he’d gone mad. Lucius had graciously agreed and been pleasantly surprised to find he was quite the opponent. Not as sharp as Draco, and nowhere near as pleasant as Anthony, but fair nonetheless. 

Lucius supposed it was a good thing he hadn’t spoken to Hermione before the match, because he was fairly certain he would have strangled the boy for the pain he’d caused Hermione after they’d spoken. He’d been listening as she’d read to the children, and the thought momentarily crossed his mind that she’d make an excellent mother. 

And then she’d cried, telling him what Dolohov had done to her. She’d said she couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to… and he had gotten the distinct impression that it was something that she had wanted, before her choice was taken away at only sixteen. 

He’d done his best for the last several years to not think of that day at the Ministry for a multitude of reasons, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He felt responsible, even if it hadn’t been his wand to deprive her of the joys of motherhood. It hadn’t been his intention for any of them to get hurt, but he’d seen the scars up the Weasley boy’s arm, and the haunted look in Hermione’s eyes. He’d never forgive himself for allowing it to happen. 

He shook himself from the darkness of that night, pulling himself back to where she lay across his sofa, her head in his lap. How had they gotten from that point to this? How had she given her trust to him so completely and willingly, and so quickly? 

He’d had years of watching her, of learning who she was and how was willing to fight for what she thought was right, what was just. 

The first time he’d seen her after the war, she didn’t cower, or walk away. No, the audacious girl had nearly given detention to the students  _ in her own house _ that dared to speak against himself and Narcissa. Despite being tortured in their house, she’d made it clear that they’d been cleared, and that was that. 

Then she’d entered the Ministry and seemed to make it her life’s mission to upset the balance there, and done a hell of a job while she was at it. He’d watched as she’d burned through archaic laws and traditions, her focus solely on making things… better. 

She’d intrigued him, and he’d been following her work closely for years. When Narcissa died, Lucius had withdrawn significantly from his work at the Ministry, until the day he’d been in a meeting with the other eleven school governors, and she’d interrupted to suggest a change to the curriculum. She’d only been a mid-level staffer in the Magical Educational Department at the time, not that it had stopped her from taking charge.

Her fire and tenacity had reignited his own desire to do some good, and the next week he threw himself into drafting a new law. It had kept him busy for the better part of a year, but every time he caught glimpses of her after that proposal was signed into law, he slowly stopped seeing her a victim and began to see her as a force of nature. 

A year later and he finally noticed how really quite pretty she was. Not like Narcissa had been, but in a softer, warmer way. Her wildly curly hair framed her face nicely and the way she’d bite her full bottom lip when she was presented with a particularly difficult problem drove him mad. He’d been looking for an opportunity to speak with her for months without Draco or Potter or any of the Ministry lackeys around, and she’d just happened to land in the lift with him that evening. 

How fortuitous. 

He felt the tiniest twinge of guilt that he’d used the situation to his clear advantage, but the outcome had been worth it. He even felt that she may even agree, though perhaps not with his methods… 

He really had just wanted to speak with her, and found her to be even more spirited and utterly delightful than he’d expected. He couldn’t stay away, and Miss Elmer had practically wet herself in excitement that he was interested in lending his support to her cause, gaining him the in he’d needed to sit across from her in that meeting. 

She’d been absolutely delectable when she got flustered. 

Even better, she’d been positively edible while sipping from her wineglass at dinner a few days later. And somehow… 

Somehow he was now carrying her to bed, the little moan that escaped her pretty pink lips for his ears alone. He debated long and hard if he should return to her bed after slipping into his own pajamas, 

He eventually decided it would be better for them both, as long as he was up before she was. So he set an alarm charm, and slipped between the sky blue sheets and held her to him, basking in the feeling of her reaching out for him. He didn’t think it would ever get old. 

The next morning, he slipped out of bed before she awoke, only greeting her with a chaste kiss at the breakfast table. 

He wasn’t going to mess this up now. He had every intention of making this work for her. She deserved this. 

***

December 18, 2006

  
  


“You look lovely, my dear.” Lucius kissed her hand gently as they moved down the hall from where she joined him in his study. It was a casual dinner with friends, she told herself. But at the same time she’d changed three times and ended up in the clingy green dress with her charcoal grey robes again. Her hair was mercifully cooperative in big Hollywood-style waves and her barely-there makeup suited her, she thought. 

Lucius of course looked amazing in the deepest navy. He had his hair pulled back from his face, and he smelled even better than he looked. She was doing her best not to surreptitiously sniff him all the way down the hallway, but she really couldn’t help herself after finding his scent lingering on the pillows with him nowhere in sight this morning. She’d grown accustomed to him being there when she awoke. 

What had started as them, Harry, and Ginny, quickly snowballed when Draco and Astoria were added, and then deciding they needed some relative neutrality, invited Neville and Hannah, as well as Aurora Sinistra and her husband Eric. Now Hermione was panicking at the thought of hosting their group. 

“Relax, darling. We’re all adults and we’ll all behave ourselves.” Lucius slid his arm around her waist, kissing the top of her head. “It will be fine.” 

They joined Astoria and Draco in the drawing room, with Neville and Aurora as the first to show. They both made apologies for their partners, but both had to work. Harry and Ginny arrived ten minutes later, much to Lucius’ amusement. 

“I’m going to have to charm Ginny’s calendar next,” Hermione muttered to Lucius quietly. They filed into the dining room, the traditional rectangular table having been replaced with a circular table to suit the informal setting. 

Lucius took his seat at what would have otherwise been the head of the table, with Hermione to his left. Ginny, Harry, and Neville were followed by Aurora, Astoria, and Draco at his father’s right. 

“I’m amazed you both got away,” Astoria was saying to Aurora and Neville, who laughed. 

“It helps that Harry here released me from guard duty,” Neville joked. 

“Hey hey, you agreed! And Minerva wasn’t about to let any more aurors through the doors. You have the training, so you got to play hero for a minute.” 

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, and Aurora jumped in to explain. “That healer that got sacked from St Mungo’s was at the school threatening Viv Beaulieu. You should have seen Minerva’s reaction. She was livid.” 

“For good reason, I think,” Ginny added lightly. “She’s still trying to restore Hogwarts’ reputation as a safe place for people’s children.” 

“I’m just saying, between Matt and Axios, it’s a miracle he made it back out alive. I might as well have been chopped liver, except to keep the other two off each other’s throats.” Neville shrugged. 

“Are you telling me that Axios Fairview is  _ still  _ head over heels for Viv?” Astoria looked delighted at the news. 

“Better than that. He and our new potions master are positively feuding over her,” Aurora snickered. 

“Wait the French guy we met after the match in October?” Ginny’s eyes got wide, looking between the two professors.

“Mathieu Dumont?” Lucius showed a shadow of surprise. 

“Yeah that’s him. Matt and Axios got into it Saturday morning. She threw them both out of her rooms and Marta called me because she wouldn’t speak to either of them.” Neville was struggling to keep a straight face. 

“I’ve been telling Axios for years to move on,” Draco drawled. “And this is what he gets for not listening to me.” 

“Oh please. Fairview would die before he moved on,” Harry snorted. “I swear to Godric he would get hurt on purpose to catch her at Mungo’s.”

“Cassia was telling me Saturday night he said he thought he’d ruined his chances with her,” Hermione added sympathetically. 

“Oh no. They made up. It was all over the school that they’re an item, but she about tore my head off at lunch today saying they weren’t.” Aurora laughed. 

“Are we talking about the same girl?” Draco looked confused. 

“Why do you think I liked her so much?” Astoria patted his hand. “She’s the sweetest thing but Merlin does she have a temper.” 

Ginny grinned. “It’s the red hair.” 

“I told Matt she’s going to pick Axios but he won’t listen to me.” Neville shook his head. 

“Matt’s leaving for the holidays and they’re both staying. I’ll bet you they’re together by Christmas.” Aurora giggled at Neville’s exasperation. But he perked up, smirking at Hermione. 

“So did I win?” Hermione blinked at him until he turned to Draco. “Did you know before or after that weekend at Manny’s that Lucius was sweet on her?” 

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “Obviously before.”

Hermione let out a squeak, turning her own exasperation to Lucius, who gave her a small smile. 

“I know what I want,” he defended shortly. 

Hermione dropped her face into her hand. This was a disaster. 

Astoria was glaring at Draco when she looked back up. “Oh he knew and didn’t tell me.” 

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Ginny was glaring daggers at Harry. 

Draco and Harry both shared a look over the table, eliciting a small shrug from each. Evidently being ganged up on by their witches kept them from bickering. Hermione would need to remember that one.

“You knew about the lift before he did though,” Hermione told Ginny reproachfully. 

“What lift?” Aurora looked between Ginny and Hermione, her interest piqued.

“The lift that so conveniently broke, trapping us together for a conversation,” Lucius smiled benignly, and reached for Hermione’s hand. 

“You didn’t!” Astoria was looking at him with wide eyes. 

“I didn’t what?” Lucius looked back at her coolly. 

Draco dropped his face in his hands, groaning. “Of course he did.” 

Harry was the next one to catch on, chuckling at the other Gryffindors’ confused expressions. “Freezing charm?” He asked. 

Neville and Ginny started snickering, but Hermione was still confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“For such a bright witch, you would have made a terrible Slytherin.” Aurora laughed as comprehension dawned in Hermione’s eyes.

“LUCIUS ABRAXAS MALFOY YOU SNEAKY SON OF A—“ he cut her off mid rant with a kiss. Draco and Harry again shared a look across the table, looking pointedly away. Neville and Aurora snickered into their coque à vin, while Ginny and Astoria grinned at each other. 

“I know what I want, and how to get it,” he smirked, pulling back. She was beet red, and wanted to sink right through the floor. “Though my only intention was to have a conversation,” he insisted. 

“And then you cornered me in that meeting!”

“You answered.”

“And then you  _ literally  _ threw me off balance in the hall!”

“You walked away.”

“And then invited me to dinner!”

“You said yes.” Lucius was smiling broadly now. 

“Uncouth indeed,” she hissed at him, and he inclined his head. 

“I need more alcohol if I’m going to listen to more of this,” Draco grumbled, and Hermione turned back to Ginny, who was still giggling. 

“So how was the match?” 

***

Hermione waved goodbye to Aurora and Neville as they stepped through the floo, and turned away, sighing. That may have gone better than expected… except…

“I can’t believe you.” 

Lucius suppressed his smile at her indignation. “I honestly did just want a conversation after seeing you at the opera, and the opportunity fell into my lap.” She glared at him, but quickly melted, and slid her hands beneath his robes, drawing him close as he wrapped his arms around her. She really couldn’t be too angry… She should be, but she didn’t have the energy. 

“You’re lucky I like you anyway,” she sighed, but then looked up, eyes blazing. “If you ever pull something like that again, I swear to Godric and Salazar I’m hexing you into the next bloody century.” 

He laughed, his rich voice echoing around the marble entryway. “I don’t doubt that for a moment.” He kissed her soundly, and led her back up to his study. 

They’d been relaxing on the sofa with a peach brandy Hermione favored when he said, “I think you made a wonderful hostess tonight.” 

She knew he was alluding to the ball, but she couldn’t help but wonder… “What was Narcissa like?” 

Lucius stiffened under her hand, where she was lightly tracing shapes over his left thigh with one finger. 

He was quiet for long enough that Hermione didn’t think she was going to get an answer at all. 

“Cissa was… complicated.” Hermione gave him a wan smile. 

“All the best ones are.” He hummed in agreement, a deep rumble that she could feel reverberating through her body from where she was pressed against him. 

“I like to think you would have liked her, and she you. She was bright, and often underestimated; people discount pretty faces, as I’m sure you know.” She nodded, still drawing shapes across the expanse of his thigh. 

“My father liked her because she was the image of perfect pureblood lady. He thought she would keep me in line.” He smiled wistfully. “As it turned out, she did, just not in the way he would have approved of. Cissa was there to encourage me every step of the way as I made my reparations and tried to uphold my vows.”

Hermione just listened, now sweeping the palm of her hand across his thigh absentmindedly, her eyes on the fire as he spoke. She could hear how much he loved her as he spoke, and it made her eyes burn. Thirty years of love and devotion was nothing to scoff at. Thirty years of learning every in and out, every corner of his mind and soul, not to mention his body… 

“How do I compete with that?” She thought morosely.

“Hermione, darling.” She tore her eyes from the fire. His eyes were soft and open, a vulnerability that she was still adjusting to being privy to. 

“You don’t have anything to compete with.”

The blood drained from her face, coming back in burning rush. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” she mumbled, dropping her eyes, her hand stilling on his leg. 

“You do not have anything to compete with,” he reiterated. Her face burned, and he captured her hand in his. His voice sharpened. 

“You are not Narcissa, nor would I want you to be. My relationship with you isn’t comparable to my relationship with Narcissa. Do you understand?” She didn’t answer, and he clenched his jaw, tamping down his frustration. She stared at their hands resting on his leg, the confliction in her eyes clear, and he watched her carefully as he counted ten slow breaths, and then another before she spoke. 

“I just want to be enough for you.” Lucius blinked. She was worried she wasn’t enough? For him? His frustration and exasperation melted away, replaced with a sinking feeling of guilt. Had he made her feel as if she wasn’t enough? This is what he’d been trying to avoid. 

“I don’t have anything to offer you. I’m not a perfect lady, pureblood or otherwise, you already know I can’t give you any children, I’m fairly certain you’re worth more than the Queen herself, so it’s not like whatever money I bring to the table matters… Hell. Even my experience in bed is severely lacking.” She blushed furiously at her frank disclosure, and it was all he could do to keep a straight face. He counted to ten again before he cleared his throat. 

“Hermione, what you have to offer me is far better than anything you seem to be under the impression that I would want.” He brought his hand up to cup her jaw, turning her face to his. 

“You are a young, beautiful, brilliant witch with a heart of gold. You are inspiring and you don’t know it, let alone flaunt it. You don’t allow yourself to be dictated or get lost in propriety for propriety’s sake. You didn’t agree to dinner with me because you saw a rich widower, or a circus act. You came because you wanted to know me. 

“Hermione, I want you because you love Puccini’s passion and the tranquility of Monet. I want you because you can compare the Goblin War of 1492 with taxes on potion imports. I want you because you allow me to hold you while you cry and you face your fears like Godric himself. 

“I’m a selfish man for wanting you, because you deserve someone young and unburdened with a lifetime of regret. But if you allow me, I will spend the rest of my life ensuring that you want for nothing. Whether that is pretty things or endless arguments over fictional characters, days of luxury or nights of pleasure, you will have it.”

Hermione’s head was spinning, lost in silver eyes and gilded words. She couldn’t draw a full breath, and she couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out. 

“I want you. I want truth and transparency and to know every secret and fear you have so you know you’re not alone… “

He just leaned down and kissed her again. And again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s a Slytherin, did you really think he let chance dictate their first conversation? ;) 
> 
> Drop a comment and let me know what you thought!


	25. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione needs assistance... Lucius and Draco oblige with some help.

December 19, 2006

The next day it ate at her. The offer. The question.  _ Hostess? _

She stormed through the manor from where she’d been working in the library at the end of the day, huffing. Lucius looked up from his desk, and put his quill down carefully at her obvious agitation. She threw her robes off, pulling her hair up off her neck with both hands as she paced between his desk, around the chairs, to the piano and back again. 

Lucius sat back, his eyes following the witch as she looped around the room until he was sure she was going to make herself dizzy. 

“Darling?” He stood, not sure if he should approach or stay put. She stopped halfway between the sofa and the piano, her back to him. “Did something happen?” 

She shook her head, dropping her hands from her hair. 

“No. I mean yes. But no.” She was talking to the wall and Lucius took that as his cue to approach her, settling his hands on her hips. She sighed, leaning back into his chest. He kissed the top of her head, letting her gather her thoughts. Was this because he’d again carried her to bed but slipped away before she woke? 

“I’ll do it. For you. The ball.” Lucius was momentarily surprised. 

“I only wish you to if you truly want to, my dear.” She turned in his hands, defiance sparkling in her brown eyes. 

“I wouldn’t say I’d do it if I truly didn’t want to. But…” she dropped her eyes, clearly embarrassed by something. 

“What is it?” He brought a hand up, caressing her jaw and tipping her chin up to meet her eyes. 

“I told you, but I didn’t think it stuck.” She went pink. “I  _ really  _ can’t dance.” His eyes got wide, and she saw his smile before he pushed it down. “It’s not funny! I don’t want to embarrass myself, or you!” She went a brighter shade of pink. 

“Darling, your dancing abilities are the least of my concerns.” Lucius had to struggle not to laugh at her indignation. 

“You haven’t seen me dance.” She dropped her dead against his chest, smacking him lightly when he chuckled. 

“If you’re so worried, we’ll go to the ballroom after dinner and I can prove to you that you aren’t as bad as you think.”

She agreed, though she was skeptical, and after dinner, Lucius led her into the grand ballroom, flicking his wand to light what had to have amounted to a thousand candles. 

Draco trailed along behind them smirking after needling it out of Hermione over pudding that she couldn’t dance. Astoria was working a late shift, and wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. 

Another flick of Lucius’ wand, and a second grand piano was playing itself. It wasn’t something Hermione recognized, but it sounded relatively simple. 

“I just want to know how’d you make it through the Yule Ball. You had to open that with Krum and I don’t remember you screwing that up to badly…” Draco leaned against the door, a delighted smirk in place. 

“Neville and I practiced. A lot. Plus there were four couples, it was less pressure, and we all know everyone was looking at the champions, not their dates.” 

Draco shook with laughter. “That’s fantastic. Nev teaching you to dance.”

“Oh shut up,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. 

“Draco, either be nice and help, or go away.” Lucius extended his hand to Hermione, who took it somewhat reluctantly. 

“We’ll start with a simple waltz before moving on to tango, foxtrot or rumba, though I do love a Paso Doble… But we’ll work up to it.” Lucius smirked at her hesitation. “Breathe. I promise I won’t give you anything you can’t handle.” 

He gave her a rundown on the basic steps, explaining the timing and how he would be moving. The he positioned himself in front of her, stepping into frame. 

Draco watched as she stepped into him. “Lift your left elbow, Granger. No, your other left!” She started to turn to snap at him, but Lucius held her firmly in place. 

“Don’t listen to him. Focus on me, love.” It was barely more than a breath in her ear before he straightened, and started to move. They made it all of four steps before she stumbled. 

“It’s alright. Again.” Lucius straightened, and again they moved. Three steps this time. 

“Even ballet wasn't this bad,” she hissed. “At least then I didn’t have someone else’s feet to trip over!” 

“You’re thinking too hard. Don’t think about it. Just let me lead.” Lucius counted for her before moving this time. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” Two three counts and she stumbled on the seventh step. 

“We need reinforcements,” Draco muttered, shaking his head. “I truly thought you were exaggerating.” 

“When have you ever known me to exaggerate, you little—“

“Darling,” Lucius cut her off. “Draco, if it isn’t constructive, it isn’t necessary.” He rolled his eyes and left the ballroom, and Hermione relaxed fractionally into Lucius’ hold. 

“Again. One, two, three.” 

Half an hour and many stumbles later, Hermione was getting frustrated. 

“I told you. I’m hopeless.” Her arms ached and she was sure his toes had to hurt by how many times she’d stepped on them. She dropped her arms to his waist, and rested her head against his sturdy chest. 

“You’re doing fine, my dear. We have time before the ball.” 

“Oh this is just delicious, Lucius and Hermione you minx!” 

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin at Pansy’s unexpected arrival, and the girl giggled. 

“Ms Parkinson.” Lucius sounded tired already. 

“Oh darling, do relax. But please tell me this is where you disappeared to from Lights.” She grinned wickedly at Hermione’s guilty expression. “This is too good.”

“What are you doing here, Pansy?” 

“Oh Draco said he needed reinforcements to help daddy dearest’s new lady lover in the ballroom. But I didn’t know it was  _ you! _ ”

Hermione could practically hear Lucius’ eyes roll, and she wanted to sink through the floor. As if Lucius and Draco weren’t bad enough, Draco had to drag their old school mate into it as well. 

“Wait. Reinforcements? As in,  _ multiple? _ ” Hermione’s panic spiked, and Lucius winced as she squeezed his hand tighter. 

“It’s better in a group. Don’t you remember how miserable it was practicing for the Yule Ball alone?” Neville was the next one through the door, this time with Hannah on his arm. 

“Who else is he going to—“

“This is it, calm down. Pansy’s only here because Astoria’s working and I can’t very well dance alone, now can I?” Draco sauntered in behind them. “I thought about Daphne and Blaise but honestly if I have to listen to Daphne complain—“ 

“Draco darling, shut up.” Pansy set her handbag and cloak down on one of the velvet upholstered chairs that were scattered around the perimeter of the room. 

Hermione relaxed again, releasing Lucius’ hand. 

“It’s easier if you see it first,” Hannah added, and Hermione noticed her fingers were turning white where she was clinging to Neville’s arm. Interesting. 

Hermione sighed. “Fine. I can use all the help I can get. But I swear to Merlin if this gets out…”

“I don’t fancy having my nose broken again, and why do you think I got him?” He jabbed a thumb at Neville. “If he didn’t tell the first time…” 

Hermione begrudgingly acknowledged that Draco had indeed chosen wisely, but the urge to punch his smug face didn’t quite dissipate entirely. 

Lucius and Hermione moved out of the way, the two couples falling into frame like it was second nature to them. Though, she supposed for the four purebloods, it probably was. 

The two couples began to dance as if they were choreographed, the smooth, graceful movements almost hypnotic; but Hannah had been right. Seeing what it was supposed to look like helped. 

“I think… it makes more sense now.” She was watching how Pansy cushioned each step with a bend in her knees, and how Hannah allowed Neville to steer her with subtle changes in pressure on her back and hand. 

Lucius smiled. “Good. Then we’ll join them.” He led her back into the middle of the floor and paused for a moment, moving gracefully into the dance with the others. 

“Close your eyes,” Pansy directed over Draco’s shoulder. So she closed her eyes, and tried to focus on the feeling of Lucius’ arms around her, the feeling of his body against hers. 

“Stop trying to anticipate what will come next. Just let me lead you,” Lucius’ silky voice in her ear had her forgetting her anxiety, and it wasn’t until Lucius chuckled and brought them to a stop that she let her eyes flutter open. 

The other two couples were hanging off to the side, and Hermione wondered how long they’d been watching instead of dancing themselves. Draco and Pansy looked smug, while Neville and Hannah just looked pleased, despite Hannah’s obvious lingering reservations over Hermione’s chosen dance partner. 

Lucius smirked at her, and she gave a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe it.” 

“I told you—“ She smacked his chest lightly. 

“Don’t you dare tell me ‘I told you so’ Lucius.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, it registered that Draco was rolling his eyes while Pansy and Hannah were both wide-eyed at her admonishment. Neville was shaking with silent laughter, much as he had the previous night. 

His smirk remained. “I was only going to tell you I told you we would start with something simple. Now we’re going to move in to something a bit more complex. Still a waltz, but something a bit more…”

“I swear to Merlin if you say grandiose…” 

“I was going to say elaborate but grandiose could fit as well.” 

She mumbled a biting comment about a peacock, and he laughed, further shocking the three newcomers. Neville was still laughing, and Pansy was now looking at Draco for confirmation she wasn’t hallucinating. 

“At least they aren’t snogging over the dinner table,” he muttered, and Hermione blushed furiously. 

“We were not—“

“But you were,” Neville snickered. 

Hannah’s mouth was now hanging open, and unshakable Pansy looked flabbergasted. 

“Draco you promised to eat your tie, and I am finally realizing why,” she said, eliciting laughs from Hannah and Neville. 

“I forgot about that!” Hannah giggled. “That was the weekend Draco--”

“Hannah, shut. Up.” Draco warned. “We were very, very drunk and we don’t talk about what happens when we’re drunk unless you’d like everyone to know about the thing with--”   


“STOP!” Neville shouted, and Hannah glared at Draco. Draco just smirked. 

Hermione looked wide-eyed at Lucius, who rolled his eyes. “If you’re all finished,” he flicked his wand and the piano changed the tune it was playing. 

The other two couples rejoined them, and began to dance. This time they all danced as if they were alone on the floor, adding turns and promenades rather than the basic box and progressive steps they’d been using before. With her eyes closed tightly, she could let him lead her through them without any problems. 

Lucius stopped her again, and nodded approvingly. “You’ve got the steps down fine when you let me lead. Now we need to work on your frame and how you shift your weight. Ms Parkinson, Draco.” They stopped and approached them. “Frame.” At his command they stepped together, and Hermione studied Pansy’s posture. 

“Her arms are parallel to the floor, her neck extended to her left. Now watch her feet.” Draco and Pansy began to move, and Hermione’s eyes were glued to Pansy’s high heels. “It’s meant to be drawn out. See how they rise and fall between all three steps of the count?”

Hermione nodded, entranced. 

“Good. Are you ready to try?” She nodded again, falling into place with him. She didn’t jump when Pansy approached, lifting her left elbow and tilting her head a bit more. 

“If he can’t ravage your neck, you’re doing it wrong,” she whispered teasingly into her ear, eliciting a faint blush. Pansy stepped back, and Lucius moved, dragging her with him into an elegant, sweeping circuit around the room. 

“Elbow!” Draco and Pansy both yelled at her the moment it began to droop. She snapped it back up and Lucius chuckled. 

“Now open your eyes,” Lucius breathed, and Hermione did as he said, her breath catching as the room whirled around her, even at the relatively slow pace of the song. “Breathe, my dear. Breathe.” 

She was still lightheaded when he lowered her into a dip as the music tapered off. 

“I think daddy dearest’s lady lover has mastered the waltz,” Pansy giggled to Draco, who rolled his eyes. 

“It’s passable,” Draco agreed begrudgingly. “And for the sake of my sanity stop calling her that.”

Lucius pulled her back to her feet, and Hermione’s head spun, not helped by the chaste, yet sensual kiss he pressed to her knuckles. 

“You did wonderfully, darling.” His words were only for her, and the praise made her heart hammer. 

“Well that was fun,” Neville grinned. “But Hannah and I should be getting back to the castle. Let us know when more dance lessons are in order, though.” 

“We will. Thank you, Nev.” Hermione found her voice again, and he grinned. 

“I’m just glad it worked out.” He winked suggestively and Hannah waved, disappearing into the hall. 

“Draco, darling I just remembered do you have that book I was asking after?” Pansy’s bid to escape the room wasn’t clumsy, per se, but it lacked her usual finesse. Nevertheless, she and Draco followed in short order, leaving Hermione and Lucius in the grand room alone. 

“May I tell you I told you so now?” His voice was a purr, his breath hot on her neck as he gripped her hips. 

“What do I get out of it if you do?” She leaned back into him with a devilish smile. He smiled back, placing one open-mouthed kiss to her neck. 

“Spoken like a true Slytherin. Should I be worried, my dear?” His nose traced up the shell of her ear and she shivered, his fingers tightening. He released her at the sound of footsteps in the hall approaching. Pansy appeared, swiping her purse and cloak from the chair and hurrying away again without so much as a word. Hermione shook her head as they exited the ballroom, a swish of Lucius’ wand extinguishing the candles. 

Hermione stopped in front of the door to Lucius’ study. 

“I’m exhausted… I think I’m going to head to bed early tonight.” Her regret seeped through her words, but she felt dead on her feet. A flash of relief across his features burned her pride, but she refused to dwell on it. She’d considered following him in and dozing on the sofa, but at some point he was going to get sick of carrying her to bed like a child. It would seem they were already there. Consider the lesson learned. 

“I have some work to finish before the holidays. I’ll be in soon, darling.” He kissed her gently, and turned away before she could tell him not to bother. 


	26. Relapse

Lucius sat at his desk, the paperwork spread out before him blurring together. Hermione had retired several hours earlier, leaving him to “work.” In reality, he’d stewed in his memories and several fingers of firewhiskey. He’d needed a moment alone, and one moment turned into hours. 

Dancing with Hermione had dredged up memories of countless hours he’d spent in that ballroom with Narcissa. Truth be told, he’d despised dancing when they’d been betrothed. It had been Narcissa that had shown him that time on the dance floor wasn’t wasted. It was the perfect romantic setting, a way to burn off extra energy when he was angry, where they had difficult conversations, and their favorite foreplay. Add in the inexplicable lack of irritation to his hip, and well… Anyone could see why dancing was how he and Narcissa bonded, and kept their marriage alive, even through the horrors of two wars. 

He doubted that Hermione would understand, but he didn’t really need her to. 

He thought of the last time he’d danced with Narcissa. It had been a slow waltz, and he’d practically carried her through it. He hadn’t realized how tired and weak she’d become until she allowed him to do it. Despite being exhausted, she looked radiant. The glacial blue of her gown was one that she’d always favored, and the diamond necklace and matching earrings were the set he’d gifted her for their wedding. She’d sparkled and dazzled, and a week later she breathed her last breath. 

He wished he’d known it would be their last. He wished he’d known that night that her goodbyes had carried extra weight. Most of all he wished he could go back and tell her how much he loved her; so much his chest ached with it. He should have told her that night. 

He took another drink of the firewhiskey, the burn countering the tightness in his chest. He sat back in his chair, pushing the paperwork aside. There was no point in pretending any longer. 

His thoughts wandered back to Hermione, waiting in a bed down the hall for him. And the endearment he’d let slip in the ballroom. She hadn’t reacted, but then she had been flustered by Draco’s shouted instructions, thank Merlin for his infuriating son. The only person in the world he’d ever called “love” had of course been Narcissa. But he’d said it to Hermione without thinking. Just as he’d slipped and called her “my dear.” He was either losing his edge or his subconscious knew something he didn’t. 

Movement from the doorway had him turning, and he took in Astoria’s worried face. She was still in her bright green healers’ robes, and Draco was nowhere to be seen. Astoria rarely approached him without reason, so when she did, he knew it was important. 

“Astoria? Did you need something?” 

She flushed, which in and of itself was odd. “Have you been in here long?” He balked at the rather unexpected question. 

“Since about nine. Hermione was tired from dancing and went to bed, but I had work to do.” He waved a hand at his cluttered desk. Astoria bit her lip, glancing at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “Is something wrong?” 

“Hermione was crying out.” She looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to check on her if you…” she trailed off, and Lucius sighed. 

“You can tell my son, not that it’s any of his business, that Hermione and I haven’t—“

“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” she cut him off. “I was the one that got worried. I was going to change after work, Draco and Pansy are downstairs. But it sounded like she was having a fever dream, not like... _that_. I just didn’t want to barge in on you…” she flushed again, but Lucius was already on his feet. He’d stopped hearing anything after “fever.”

Astoria stepped out of his way, trailing behind him as he strode down the hallway, his robes flaring around him. He could hear her as he approached the door, the tiny whines she’d been making when she was ill becoming louder and morphing into cries. The door was flung open by a nonverbal, wandless spell, and the candles flared, shining more brightly. 

Hermione was in the middle of the big bed, flushed with fever, the black silk of his shirt clinging to her body from the sheen of sweat that was quickly dissipating. The sheets around her were damp, and rumpled like she’d been tossing and turning. He reached out, taking her hand. The fever burned through her skin, leaving it far too hot and dry, but she quieted significantly at his touch. 

“Tori!” He couldn’t tear his eyes from the damp curls that filled the pillow. Even at her worst last week, she hadn’t looked like this. How long had she been like this? Ill and alone while he wallowed? 

Lucius was vaguely aware of Astoria casting diagnostic spells and a cooling charm, summoning Bigsy and asking for various items. He stood frozen by the bedside, his fear rushing up and dragging him under like a riptide. 

“Lucius. Lucius! LUCIUS!” It wasn’t until Astoria gripped his arm that he registered she was speaking his name. “You need to go.” 

“I’m not leaving her.” His chest was tight and he had to grit his teeth to force out the words. She released his arm, and he sank to his knees holding one small, burning hand in both of his. He should have been here with her. He would have caught the fever before it had gotten this bad. He wouldn’t have let her get so sick. 

Had he pushed her too hard while dancing? They’d had social engagements every day since she’d recovered… Had that been wrong? Was it his fault she was laying in this bed, her body being ravaged by an illness? Or was it the same curse that had taken Narcissa? He couldn’t lose Hermione too. Not now. 

The thoughts flying around his head muted his surroundings, until hands gripped his shoulders. 

“Father, come with me. Let Tori work.” Draco’s voice was firm, commanding. Had it been any other time, directed at anyone else, Lucius would have been proud. But here and now, telling him to leave the witch that had breathed life back into him after Narcissa’s death, it was unbearable. His son may as well have hit him with a _cruciatus_ curse. 

Draco’s hands tightened on his shoulders. Lucius leaned down, pressing his lips to the back of the small hand in his. A whispered incantation and a small silver heart formed in her hand; a second silver heart formed in his own hand. He stood, allowing Draco to lead him from the room. 

He wasn’t sure where Draco was leading him. They weren’t going upstairs, so that ruled out any of the workrooms, the potions lab, the observatory, or the storage spaces. They passed his study, the game room, the ballroom, several drawing rooms, the dining room, Draco’s study, and ended up in the library, at the wizarding chess board. He didn’t much feel like chess, but he suspected that was Draco’s point.

They made their first moves, and Draco began to talk. 

“...I was sure you were going to force me into an arranged marriage. Aurora was the one that told me not to be so sure. I think Tori was actually there for that…”

Lucius gripped the silver heart through which he could feel her heartbeat and the heat of her skin. It felt far too hot, her pulse weak and too fast. 

“...then when Neville told me Hannah had broken things off, I thought they were doomed. Of course I was wrong, and they’re happier than ever…”

He knew Astoria would take care of her, but Astoria wasn’t him. She couldn’t calm Hermione with a touch like he could… but he wasn’t a healer like she was, either. 

“...Cordelia’s been giving Pansy a hard time, dating a half-blood. He’s a good bloke, and I thought they’d like it better than when she and Caroline were together, but apparently a half-blood Ravenclaw is better than a half-blood Hufflepuff, which we all agree is ridiculous…”

The heart went suddenly ice cold, and Lucius’ breath caught. Just as quickly, it warmed again, but it was a cool touch, and the heartbeat was wrong. Stronger and more steady. Then it changed again, the feverish heat and fast heart rate back. She must’ve dropped it, and Astoria had picked it up, placing it back in her hand. 

“...Rose said she and Hope would be here for the ball. According to Rose, Hope broke up with the bloke she was seeing and of course Rose thinks she needs to lay off the men, but she says that every time. I think Rose just needs a bloke of her own…”

Lucius squeezed the heart, his lifeline to the witch upstairs. It was after two now, but he was wide awake. He wasn’t paying much attention to the game before him or whatever Draco was saying, but he didn’t mind either. 

“...Alice and Damian are giving it a go again, I didn’t think she would after Theo died… It’s good to see her smiling again. Damian too, really, but he says it’s hard to live up to Theo’s memory. They weren’t engaged long before he died but I think that makes it worse…”

Lucius’ heart clenched. Theo Nott had passed away shortly after Narcissa. He vaguely remembered Alice MacNamara and Draco walking loops in the garden together, companions in their mourning. If Hermione died, who would he have to mourn her with? Potter? Arthur Weasley? 

“...Dumont ripped into her, Neville said he hasn’t been the same since his mother passed…”

She was estranged from her parents for trying to save them. Save them from _him._ Dear sweet Merlin and Morgana he had no right to feel the way he did for her after all the things he’d done. What if they didn’t make it right in time? Did they not understand?

“...I guess when he was at Mungo’s for an on-duty injury, Cassia and Anthony came in to see her crying her eyes out. They let Tori in first so Viv could save face, but Cassia was dying to corner her, it’s been ages…”

Was it his imagination or was the heart cooling slightly? And her heart slowing? Was that a good sign? He forced himself to keep his breathing slow and even. His heart pounded, and then nearly stopped when Draco stood several minutes later, his monologue trailing off. 

Astoria reached out for Draco, but turned to address Lucius. 

“She’s had a relapse of the flu. It’s not the curse. She had an extremely high grade fever… I would prefer to take her to St Mungo’s—“

“It’s too much of a risk. She needs to stay here,” Lucius cut in firmly, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Lucius, she needs—“

“She needs to stay here, Astoria.” His voice took on an edge of finality, and the use of her full given name told her she’d been trumped. 

Astoria looked frustrated, but conceded, “I got her fever down to a manageable level, and she’s doing better now if you want to go back up. She’ll need potions every two hours, but Bigsy will be administering them through the night.”

“Bigsy needs sleep too, isn’t there another--”

“I tried, but she was insistent.” Astoria gave a weary shrug. “It wasn’t a fight I was going to win any faster than I was going to get her to St Mungo’s, so I let her be. You should go.” 

He nodded curly, and left the library quickly.

Astoria looked at Draco, who pointed to the board. “He was protecting his queen the entire time. I could have had him in check ages ago.” Astoria sighed again, shaking her head at her fiancé. 

“His queen isn’t on that board, love. Let’s go to bed before I change my mind about keeping her here.” 

***

Lucius barely slept that night, or the next. Bigsy was there to administer potions, with Lucius watching dispassionately each time the elf attempted to rouse her. 

She was barely conscious Wednesday, and didn’t seem to notice that Lucius disappeared for several hours, returning looking even more defeated than when he left. Hermione took a drastic turn for the better on Thursday afternoon, much to their relief, but Friday morning she was back to arguing with Lucius and Astoria. 

“You pushed too hard too soon last time and look where you ended up,” Astoria huffed, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I did not, it’s not my fault I got the flu again.” Hermione insisted petulantly from the bed. 

“If you want to go to the Weasley’s for Christmas, you’re resting until then,” Lucius glared at her. “I won’t have you making the children ill.” 

“But--” 

“Darling, don’t even pretend that spending the next three days being waited on hand and foot with full access to the library doesn’t sound the least bit tempting. If you really need something for that brilliant mind to chew on, I’m sure Draco would love the help on his Runes, which you can do from here.” 

She knew she couldn’t argue with him about the children _or_ the books, so she sat back against the pillows, scowling. The effect was diminished somewhat when Crookshanks jumped into her lap, setting his head heavily across her thigh and sighing loudly. 

“Absolutely no exerting yourself. I swear I’ll ward you into bed myself if I have to,” Astoria warned firmly. 

“I’m NOT spending the next three days in bed!” She looked outraged at the prospect. 

“Then I can carry you to the sofa in my study and back. Nothing more,” Lucius told her calmly, looking completely unaffected by Hermione’s displeasure. 

“That can’t honestly be necessary--” Hermione protested. Astoria glared at her. 

“If it wasn’t for Lucius insisting you don’t leave the protection of the manor, I would have had you admitted to St Mungo’s Tuesday night.” Her voice was low and dangerous, punctuated with glares at both Hermione and Lucius. 

“Do you understand that your fever was so high it could have induced seizures? Honestly Hermione, you’re really fucking lucky that you’re here at all. So yes, it is necessary, and Lucius is being far more lenient with you than I’d like.” 

The sharp rebuke from the normally very sweet and unassertive witch was enough to make Hermione nod meekly, her face hot with embarrassment. Astoria turned and left without another word, slamming the door behind her. 

“We just want what’s best for you, Hermione. We’re not trying to make your life difficult or hold you hostage. You’ve been _extremely_ ill and—“

“I didn’t realize I was that sick.” Hermione buried her face in her hands. “What’s happening to me?” 

She sounded pathetic, even to her own ears. She couldn’t stop the tears that leaked out beneath her lids. The copy of the _Daily Prophet_ he’d been reading in the chair next to her this morning indicated it was Friday, but it had been held in such a way she couldn’t see any headlines. She remembered dancing Tuesday night, coming to bed alone… and then everything got hazy. She’d essentially lost two full days. 

The mattress shifted, and she could feel his body heat radiating through the duvet next to her leg. She wanted so badly to reach out to him but would he think she was being childish? She was so accustomed to being alone and independent and Lucius and whatever illness she’d contracted were together throwing that all to hell. 

And then his arm came down around her, cradling her gently. “You’ve been ill, darling. Please just let me care for you properly so this doesn’t happen again.”

She let herself lean into his shoulder, both hands falling from her face to curl up around his bicep. She was already tired again. 

“This bloody flu can go to hell,” she grumbled, irritated by her apparent lack of stamina. 

“Yes it can. You on the other hand, may not go anywhere. So take this,” he wiggled a vial of pepperup within her line of vision, “and have some tea.” Hermione drew back, swallowing the potion quickly. He leaned over to take a cup of tea from the table. 

“You don’t _have_ to baby me,” she mumbled. 

“No, but if it isn’t me, it will be Bigsy or Astoria and I do believe you made Astoria the most angry I’ve ever seen her not five minutes ago… would you like to take your chances with me or her?” His lips quirked up in a small smile. 

“You, please. But can we please get out of this bloody room?” 

“I told you, as long as I carry you—“ 

“I have legs that are in perfect working order, Lucius.” 

“And I’d prefer not to have mine hexed out from under me if Tori catches you exerting yourself. And would you really rob me of the pleasure?” 

Hermione scoffed, and Lucius cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“You can’t honestly enjoy carrying me around like a.. a child!” She flushed as she voiced her insecurity, but missed the flicker of amusement that crossed his face as she dropped her eyes to the now empty teacup in her hands. 

“For what it’s worth, I do believe they call it a bridal carry, darling.” Hermione rolled her eyes, but squealed when he scooped her up, one arm under her knees, and the other behind her back, grinning broadly as he did so. She dropped her empty teacup in favor of grabbing at the sheet, dragging it from the bed as he carried her through the door into the sitting room. 

They were both laughing as the door flew open, the sheet trailing behind them. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, looking very much as if he was trying to decide if he was going to be sick over the rug, or to yell. Hermione yanked the sheet up to cover her burning face, her forgotten teacup flying from her lap and rolling across the carpet to stop at Draco’s feet. 

He looked down at it, and shook his head vigorously before turning and walking quickly away in the direction he’d been coming from, muttering darkly under his breath. Hermione thought she heard, “bloody indecent,” along with something about a father that she didn’t think was referring to Lucius. 

Mortified, Hermione pulled the sheet higher, covering her eyes. Lucius was still snickering when she pulled the sheet down enough to glare at him. 

“You should have made me stay in bed.” 

He just smirked. 


	27. Signed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is recovering... again. Several revelations come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Dragons and Roses spoilers ahead... Proceed with caution!

They spent the day in Lucius’ study, with Hermione picking various volumes to flip through, napping on and off while cocooned in the sky blue sheets that had been ripped unceremoniously from the bed. Bigsy fussed over her relentlessly, tutting over her unfinished tea and the growing stack of tomes next to her. 

“Mistress must rest!” The elf was standing with her arms crossed, looking rather defiant. 

“I  _ am  _ resting, Bigsy.” Hermione turned a page in the heavy book, skimming over it for the information she was looking for. The elf gave a “hrrumph” that indicated Bigsy did  _ not  _ believe her, but she wasn’t going to contradict her. 

When she left with a pop, Hermione glared over her shoulder at Lucius. “Stop laughing.” He looked offended. 

“I wasn’t laughing.”

“Not out loud, maybe. But you think she was right.”

“I was thinking more along the lines that it’s a testament to your condition that you didn’t object to her calling you “mistress,” but I do indeed think you’d be better off in bed,” he said lightly. 

Hermione froze, replaying the conversation with the elf in her head. 

“Don’t panic dear, I’m sure it was just a slip of the tongue. She’s gotten less sleep than I have, she’s been so worried about you.” Lucius stood from the desk, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he passed on the way to the piano. 

They went to bed early that night, and Hermione was feeling back to herself the next morning, even though she slept in later than was normal for her. Lucius was already up and dressed, sipping a cup of tea, and she was met with the morning headline of the  _ Prophet _ , making her stomach turn. 

She sat up suddenly, snatching the paper from where it hovered before him. 

_ December 23, 2006 _

**Death Eaters Sighted-Plans Uncovered by Aurors**

Antonin Dolohov glared up at her from the front page. The photo had been taken the night of the battle at the Department of Mysteries. He and Lucius had both been taken into custody, and from there imprisoned in Azkaban. The slash across his cheek had been put there by Hermione herself. She stared down at it, a torrent of emotion tearing through her. 

She was vaguely aware of Lucius watching her, his cup of tea still and steady in his hand. She skimmed the article. Evidently whatever plans had been “uncovered” hadn’t been shared with the reporter, which made Hermione wonder if they actually had something, or if someone was just stirring the pot. 

“I need to owl Harry be—“

A letter slid over the article. It was addressed to the school governors, and she recognized Minerva’s handwriting and signature at the bottom. 

In it, she briefly described that the school matron, Vivienne Beaulieu, had been targeted by a known American Death Eater sympathizer, as well as the potion’s master, Matthieu Dumont. As the potion’s master was currently in France, the British and French Ministries were offering protection. As Viv was still at Hogwarts, they were increasing security and was being guarded by the Auror and Defense Professor, Axios Fairview, with support being provided by MACUSA agents. 

“Fuck.” It came out as a whisper, and Lucius sighed, setting another sheet over the top. It was the proof for the coming  _ Evening Prophet.  _

**Golden Girl Granger Gold Digging Defected Death-Eater?**

A photo that looked to be from their first date graced the page, with her looking up shyly at him with his arm behind her back as they left Bella Vita. She had to admit it was one of the more flattering photos they’d felt the need to run of her in the  _ Prophet _ . She’d had better headlines, but she’d had worse too. The timing was, as usual, awful. Why had they hung onto the picture for so long without running it?

“Double fuck.”

“That does sum it up, yes. Drink your tea.” She let him replace the letter and newspaper with the cup of tea, and she took a sip, trying to gather her thoughts. 

“Draco will approve of the alliteration, at least,” she said as lightly as she could manage. “And I guess it’s a good thing to get it out before the ball? I feel like I need to study up on who’s going to be there…” she trailed off, her mind racing. 

“Minerva and Aurora, of course… The Dumonts are cousins of mine. Matthieu is just older than Draco, and he’ll be here for the ball. Astoria and Draco were in Diagon Alley yesterday and said that the matron and Axios were looking quite… close. As she’s accompanying him, I’ve taken the liberty of sending a letter to Mr Potter and the Minister to increase security for the even even further. They’re both in agreement. Which reminds me that Harry also offered extra security for Christmas with the Weasleys, which I informed Molly and Arthur we wouldn’t miss as long as you’re well enough.”

Hermione blinked at him slowly. “Molly and Arthur?” Lucius narrowed his eyes. 

“Did you catch anything I just said?” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her hands from shaking around the cup. 

“Something about cousins and security,” she mumbled. Her eyes snapped open when he took the cup from her hands. She watched as he set it aside with a steady hand, and drew her back into him. 

His warmth and solidity did more for her than the tea did, and soon she was relaxing into his hold. Deep breath after deep breath filled her lungs with the warm, sweet but masculine scent of him, soothing her further. She knew logically that they wouldn’t be cuddled up like this forever, and eventually they’d have to face the world, but she was content for that to come later. 

“This is severely cutting into our dancing timetable,” she muttered against his shoulder. 

“There was a timetable?” 

“There’s always a timetable,” she murmured, slipping down his chest. The chuckle that rumbled through his chest made her smile. Her timetable for this was certainly long term. 

When Hermione felt a bit more steady, she got up and showered. They retreated again to the study, Hermione walking after telling Lucius she’d hex him before Astoria did if he didn’t let her. He did stay close though, either for fear of her suddenly weakening or out of anxiety similar to hers, she wasn’t sure. 

He took his place beside her on the sofa, instead of sitting at his desk or at the piano, as well, which led her to qbelieve he was as reluctant to be any further away from her than was absolutely necessary. 

Lucius was reading a Muggle novel, and Hermione was working on Draco’s runes, her head propped up on a pillow in Lucius’ lap, their left hands tangled together. Her small fingers traced over the thick band of the ring that was engraved with the inverse Malfoy family crest.

“Aren’t signet rings supposed to be worn on the pinky?” 

Lucius looked up, flexing his hand. “I believe that is the Muggle tradition. In the wizarding world, unmarried men wear them on the middle finger of the right hand, married men on the ring finger of their left, and widowers on the middle finger of the left.” He summoned a book from the shelf behind his desk with a flick of a finger. 

Hermione had seen his casual uses of wandless, nonverbal magic, and she filed it away as something to talk about later. This was more important. 

“Wizarding signet rings were imbued with old magic, similar to some of the different types of sealing waxes you can buy now. For convenience’s sake, I rarely use my ring. I’d rather use Seal-Safe and call it a day. It’s much neater, too; I always end up with wax elsewhere otherwise.” Hermione had the sudden image of Lucius’ skin splattered with green wax and she suppressed a smile. 

The book was mostly on old wizarding traditions, and she got lost in it, making notes on the parchment she was still holding from the runes. She set it aside in favor of another she’d been browsing earlier, before taking up the runes. It was another hour before she spoke again. 

“Lucius… I need your ring.” Hermione sat up suddenly from where she lounged across the sofa, nearly upsetting the cup of tea hovering within reach. He hovered the cup away to prevent her from spilling and turned to her with a cocked eyebrow. 

He could see her mind racing behind her eyes, so rather than argue, he slipped the heavy silver signet ring from the middle finger of his left hand, and pressed it into her outstretched palm. The last time the ring had been removed, it had been as part of the death rites after Narcissa had died. The time before that, he’d been waiting transport to Azkaban, and he’d pressed it into Narcissa’s hand, in case he didn’t come back. 

The parallel gesture unnerved him, but he released her hand, and watched her scramble from the room after examining the piece carefully. Curious and wary for her health, he followed the sound of her footsteps against the polished marble. Down the staircase and to the right down the hall towards the library, but she stopped short, pounding on a door in the hall, her knocks echoing to where Lucius was still on the stairs. 

“Draco! The door swung open as Lucius rounded the corner, Hermione tumbling through the space.

“Granger, what the—“

“They’re yours!” 

“What are mine?” Draco sounded confused. 

“The runes! Come on!” 

Before Lucius had made it halfway down the corridor, Hermione was dragging his son back out the door by his wrist, Draco’s displeasure at being manhandled by the petite witch evident in his features. This time she did disappear into the library, and Lucius lost track of them for a moment. 

He found them in what had been Draco’s primary classroom, which had been Lucius’ before him, and Abraxas’ before him. Now there were rune sheets covering the walls, their undulating movement reminiscent of insects crawling across the wallpaper. It didn’t seem to bother the two, who were facing off over one of the sheets near the middle. 

“It’s  _ signed _ !” 

“All I see is the same rune that I’ve been trying to find for the last eight years.”

“Because you’ve been looking in the wrong place! It’s not a rune, look!” She shoved Lucius’ signet ring at Draco, who blanched. 

“What are you doing with that?” 

“I gave it to her.” Lucius spoke up from the doorway, and both jumped. Apparently they hadn’t realized they’d been followed. 

“You what?” Patches of pink bloomed on his high cheekbones, and his eyes grew hard as he looked between the unlikely couple. 

“To show you, you idiot!” Hermione interjected hotly. “Will you focus for more than five seconds?” 

“You can’t just go—“

“Draco, look at the ring so that I may have it back, please.” Lucius’ patience was wearing thin with his son’s antics, compounding his anxiety to be without the ring and Hermione’s surge of activity so soon after being so ill. Draco’s jaw tightened, but he took the ring, studying it closely. On the inside of the metal band, the rune was etched clearly, not dulled by time or wear. 

He slid his own heir’s signet ring from his own right middle finger, comparing the two. 

“Why doesn't mine have the rune, then?” He held them up side by side, turning them slowly in his hands. 

“Because these were meant for the lord, not the heir.” Hermione was practically bouncing. “In the 14th through the 16th centuries, the Malfoy family were at odds. The heir was changed so often, they didn’t share any family secrets until the heir became the sitting lord. They marked those secrets with that symbol as a way to help the new Lord Malfoy.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “It’s a prophecy.” He spun around, looking for a familiar line. “The dragon born of silver and black…” He grabbed a quill, and made some changes. “Draco, born of silver (Malfoy?) and Black.” 

Hermione pried Lucius’ ring from Draco’s fist, and approached the door, taking Lucius’ hand and sliding the ring firmly back into place. His shoulders relaxed, and she went up on her toes to kiss him softly. 

“Thank you. Sorry for the lack of explanation,” she murmured, her cheeks going pink. 

“You had a reason. You always do.” He gave her a wry smile. “Been reading up on my family history, have you?” 

She flushed a deeper shade of pink, dropping her eyes. “I guess I thought it couldn’t hurt.” 

“Fuck. I need Aurora.” Draco was running his hand through his hair, his eyes wide, spinning in small circles to take in all of the sheets around him. 

Lucius started to correct him for his language, but Hermione squeezed his hand, shaking her head. “I’ll go talk to Aurora. You stay here, Draco.” Lucius was fairly certain his son wasn’t listening, but he nodded, running his hand through his short blond hair again. 

Hermione tugged him back into the main library, headed towards the floo. “Leave him be. He’s been working on this for a long time.” 

“You do realize that once the shock wears off, he’s going to be livid that you bested him once again, don’t you?” Lucius smiled at the witch; at  _ his  _ witch. 

“He’ll get over it. It was actually your name that tipped me off, the first time I looked it over. Draco had mistranslated it, but I had to do some research to find out why it would be in the runes at all.”

Lucius’ eyebrows pulled together in confusion, and she laughed. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.” His brow immediately smoothed, and she laughed even harder. “I’m kidding. Not that I would mind anyway.”

“My name,” he prompted, rolling his eyes at her. 

“Oh right. Lucius Abraxas. One of the runes he translated as an amulet, but originally it was…”

“Abraxas.” Lucius shook his head. He’d seen the rune himself and hadn’t made the connection. “You are far too clever for your own good, my dear.” 

Hermione’s answering smile made his heart swell. 

“Now, back upstairs and on the sofa. If Tori comes home and sees you up, she’ll have my head. I’ll call Aurora and be up shortly.” He could tell she wasn’t pleased with it, but she went anyway. She was so busy looking back at him, though, that she nearly walked into one of the massive Christmas trees lining the hallways. 

He suppressed a smile at her blush as she hurried away. He turned to the entry hall and the floo there. Tossing in a pinch of powder, he called, “Aurora?” 

The school was on holiday break, but he hoped she’d hung around. Evidently she had because a moment later she was calling back, “hold on!” He waited semi-patiently, already anxious to get back to Hermione, who he didn’t entirely trust to settle back down without him there to supervise. 

“Sorry, Lucius! Did you need something?” Her head appeared in the emerald flames. Based on the state of her hair, he guessed Eric was on the other side. 

“Hermione and Draco had a bit of a breakthrough on those sheets you’ve been working on. It would seem they refer to Draco himself.”

Her jaw dropped open and he stared evenly at her disembodied head. “He’s requesting your help,” he prompted, hoping the witch wasn’t going to make him explain it all. Draco could do that so Lucius could get back to Hermione. Luckily, she seemed to have the same idea. 

“I’ll be there in five. Is he in the classroom?” A curt nod from Lucius and she was gone. He hadn’t even made it to the door to the hallway when the floo roared to life again. He turned back, intending to rib Aurora about her idea of how long five minutes actually was, but the black hair was much too short and much too messy to be hers. 

“Mr Potter?” The younger man’s jaw was set, an almost maniacal look of fury in his eye. 

“I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I need to speak to Hermione. Now.” 

Lucius kept a tight rein on his facial expressions, only arching an eyebrow, a look of general disinterest hiding the spike of panic he felt. 

“Hermione has been ill again—“

“What? Why didn’t she tell me? Where is she?” He was already gripping his wand, and Lucius let a bit of ice slip into his eyes. 

“If you care to let me finish, I would tell you that she’s been receiving care here, and is recovering nicely. She’s in my study—“

The roar of the floo cut him off again, but this time it was Aurora that stepped through. She looked between the two angry men, facing off like fire and ice. Lucius waved her through without a word, and she didn’t have to be told twice. 

“She’s in my study, and I’m sure would be perfectly happy to speak to you, though I would appreciate knowing what is so important that you couldn’t owl first.” The bite in his voice was getting dangerously close to the old Lucius, but he didn’t much care at the moment. He didn’t like the look in the younger man’s eyes. 

“I believe that is between me and Hermione, but suffice it to say it regards her safety,” Harry snarled. Lucius turned on his heel, stalking from the room before biting his tongue was no longer effective. His anxiety over the witch was in overdrive now, so he didn’t wait to see if Potter was going to follow or not, just strode down the hall and up the stairs. The door to his study flew open as he approached, and he was relieved to see Hermione’s curls peaking up over the back of the sofa. 

She turned at the sound of the crashing door, her eyes wide. Lucius knew he’d adopted his long-relied-upon mask, and he knew she wouldn’t like it, but he could hear Potter’s footsteps behind him now, and there was no time to explain. He stepped beside the sofa, resting one hand on Hermione’s shoulder, the other fisted behind his back. Every muscle in his body was tense. 

“Lucius what—“ she stopped when she heard the footsteps. “Harry? What are you doing here?” 

“I need to talk to you, ‘Mione.” She recognized the look as Harry’s I-have-something-to-tell-you-but-not-in-present-company look, and she felt Lucius’ hand tighten on her shoulder. He wasn’t going to like stepping out. 

“Lucius.” She said it quietly, waiting until his grey eyes met hers. “Can we have a minute?” As expected, his steel-coloured eyes frosted over, but she slipped her hand over his, squeezing gently. 

“I’ll go check on Draco and Aurora. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Hermione could tell his considerable self-control was straining. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to the same ring she’d slid back on his finger not half an hour earlier. She hoped the message from the old pure-blood tradition came across clear enough without Harry noticing. Though Lucius’ expression stayed impassive, she could see the surprise in his eyes, and she smiled.  _ Message received. _

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he left them, glowering at Harry as he went. Once the door clicked shut, Harry sighed. 

“Come sit down and you better make this quick.” Hermione pointed to the chair closest to her, and Harry sat heavily, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“You can’t stay here.” He pulled a letter from a pocket, handing it over to her. It was a general threat; mudblood, blood traitor, torture and pain… She’d gotten these before, for every perceived infraction since Rita Skeeter first dragged her name through the papers with Viktor and Harry until after the war and even in her work now. For some reason she couldn’t place why this one felt worse, until she reached the end. Her blood ran cold when she saw who had signed the threat. 

Antonin Dolohov.  _ Triple fuck.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hermione just can't catch a break. Give me some theories, loves!


	28. Instincts

“Why do you think this one means more than any of the others?” Hermione fell back on logic. If she let her emotions go now, she’d never come back from it, and if Lucius came back to her crying… Well, he was already going to be livid. Unless…

“Does Lucius know?” Hermione flung the letter back at Harry and gripped the blanket that was draped over her lap, scenarios looping through her mind like a highlight reel. 

“Well  _ I  _ didn’t tell him!” Harry shot a look over Hermione’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “Look, I just don’t think you staying here is a good idea. If Dolohov and Lestrange are back and out for blood, do you really think the house of a Death Eater is the best place to be?”

“Are you honestly suggesting Lucius is involved?” Hermione glared at her friend, her voice even lower than his. 

“Dammit Hermione. If he is, you’re in danger. If he’s not, you’re both in danger!”

“How do we know it’s even real? I sure as hell don’t know what Dolohov’s signature looks like. And how did you get it anyway?” She was doing her best to talk herself out of believing it was really Dolohov that sent it. 

“I’ve developed some pretty accurate instincts, and I’m not prepared to gamble with your life, ‘Mione! And I got it because it was left on your secretary—“

“—Assistant!“

“Fine, your  _ assistant’s _ desk at work with the bloody Dark Mark painted on your door!”

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, and it felt like steel bands settled around her chest, keeping her from taking a full breath.

Harry continued, not seeming to notice that Hermione had stopped listening. “Luckily it was Vance Wipple that saw it, and alerted me before the entire fucking Ministry went up in arms. I’ve got three aurors and an Unspeakable trying to figure out how they got in.”

It had been nearly nine years since the fall of Voldemort, and the Dark Mark had scarcely been seen. The mark on the skin of the remaining Death Eaters faded with Voldemort’s death, though Hermione knew both Lucius and Draco didn’t care to leave the scar it left on display either. Hermione hadn’t even seen Lucius’; she’d gotten a glimpse of Draco’s one afternoon when he was working alone in his office with his sleeves rolled up. 

Harry was still talking, something about a safe house and protection details. “Lucius asked for increased security for Christmas, but you’ll have me and half the order at the Burrow. The ball is technically a Ministry affair so we’re covered there…” Hermione let him keep talking, recognizing his anxiety and need to help and to fix. 

“Harry, I’m not leaving him.” He stopped mid sentence, mouth agape. “I recall a time that you were the most hunted man in Britain and I didn’t leave you either. So you’re going to have to come up with another plan.” She paused. “ _ We _ are going to come up with another plan.” 

The door behind her opened, and she realized with relief that the ten minutes were up, and she welcomed the weight of Lucius’ hand on her shoulder. The bands around her chest loosened, and she leaned into his touch. 

Harry had pushed his glasses up again, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. He knew she wouldn’t relent. “Hermione, I swear to Merlin if something happens to you because you won’t be reasoned with…” He shook his head and released his nose, his glasses slipping back into place. 

He offered the note to Lucius, who didn’t show any emotion other than the twitch of the muscle in his jaw. He was so stoically calm that Hermione almost wondered if he was reading the same note that she had. He handed it back to Harry, and then asked, his voice like the surface of a frozen lake, “how do we proceed?” The ice covered the swirling depths of anxiety and fear that Hermione could barely detect, and it was only the tightening of his hand on her shoulder that clued her in at all. 

“I want to relocate her to a safe house, and she’s refusing,” Harry said flatly. 

“Because I’m not going  _ alone _ ,” Hermione shot back, her anger rising past her fear. She wasn’t put in Gryffindor for nothing. 

“The Manor is safe,” Lucius insisted evenly, and Harry shook his head. 

“Don’t you know this is the first place they’ll look for you now it’s in the papers? They spent enough time here that they probably still see it as a home field advantage.” 

“Then I’ll take her to the château in France, just outside of Paris.” Lucius was practically daring Harry to try to object. “None of the other…  _ followers…  _ ever set foot in the place, nor do they know where it is.” 

Harry considered the idea, looking anywhere but at Hermione or Lucius. He settled at staring at the ornate rug at his feet. “I’d need to talk to Natalie Richards and the French ambassador… They’ve got a bit on their plates with the Dumonts already, but I don’t think Kingsley will have a problem with it. I’d need to run it past Arthur as Junior Minister and I know he’d feel better if you were in the country, and I’m fairly certain when Molly finds out she’s going to lose her—“

“Harry, shut up.” Hermione was rubbing her temples, fighting a fresh headache, and Lucius was watching her closely. “Talk to whoever, tell Kingsley thank you, Arthur not to worry and for fucks sake I’ll see Molly in two days, she’ll get over it.” She flung the blanket from her lap, picked up a book from the stack beside the sofa, and stalked from the room. 

“Where is she going,” Harry demanded, and Lucius let out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Probably the library, although I wish she’d have the sense to go back to her room to rest.” Lucius fought the urge to collapse down into the sofa. This is not how he imagined their holiday. Instead he took his seat behind the massive mahogany desk that was once his father’s. Taking out a quill and several sheets of parchment, he set to work. 

“What were you saying about the Dumonts?” He kept writing, glancing up when Harry didn’t answer immediately. 

“Er... “

“I’m a school governor, I know he was threatened. This would be considerably easier if you would just  _ speak.”  _ His frustration was bleeding through, and he put his quill down, taking a deep breath. “Marcel Dumont is a cousin and a friend. If he or his son are in need of protection, I was going to suggest they join us at the chateau.” 

Harry looked surprised, and Lucius could see the wheels turning behind his round-rimmed glasses. “Actually… That might make this logistically easier…” 

“Yes, I am aware.” He picked his quill back up and continued writing. “I suggest you return to the Ministry and make them aware of our plans. Every floo in the Manor is connected to the chateau, but I suggest we limit access to a singular point in the manor, and one within the Ministry for the time being. I don’t believe a  _ fidelis  _ is necessary, though we should keep the knowledge of where we are limited. Draco and Astoria, the minister, Arthur, and of course yourself.” 

Harry was nodding slowly as Lucius started a second sheet of parchment. This one was considerably shorter, and he flicked his wand, delivering it into Harry’s hands when he was finished. Harry read over it, and had a distinct look of admiration at the succinct directions. Lucius was good at protective measures; he knew this. 

“Malfoy Manor Master Study,” Lucius said, indicating the fireplace. 

“I’ll be back in an hour. Will you be ready to go?” Harry asked, standing. Lucius nodded curtly, not looking up from a third sheet of parchment. He disappeared with a swirl of green flame, and Lucius summoned Bigsy. He explained quickly, the little elf looking increasingly anxious as he went on. When he finished, the elf turned her luminous blue eyes up at him. 

“Bigsy will do as Master Lucius asks. But Mistress Narcissa made a promise to Bigsy, and Bigsy must tell Master Lucius now.” Lucius’ chest tightened at the thought of Narcissa, wondering if he would have made the same request to Bigsy for Narcissa as he just had for Hermione. 

“Mistress Narcissa promised to Bigsy that Bigsy would know when Master Lucius found Bigsy’s new mistress, but made Bigsy promise to tell Master Lucius. Mistress Hermione is the Mistress Bigsy was waiting for. Bigsy promises to keep her safe for Master Lucius, and for Mistress Narcissa.” 

“When did she make this promise, Bigsy?” His voice broke. 

“The last time she spoke to Bigsy before she…” The house elf’s eyes filled with tears, and Lucius couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak; so he nodded. 

“Thank you.” The words burned, he knew his voice sounded rough and strangled, but somehow it was a release. He’d felt as if he was betraying Narcissa this whole time, but she’d known. Of course she’d known. Her instincts regarding her death had been uncanny. 

The house elf disapperated, and Lucius finally let his shoulders sag. His emotions were dangerously close to the surface, and when the door opened to a red-eyed Hermione, they threatened to break loose completely. He opened his arms, and Hermione flew across the room, sliding into his lap and locking her arms around his neck. With her in his lap, the invisible bands around his chest tightened further, and it was all he could do to breathe. 

He held her close, stroking her wild curls and pressing kisses to her forehead. 

“This is temporary,” he promised, more to himself than to her. “Don’t worry.” 

“Telling me not to worry is useless.” 

“I’ve become a proponent of helpless causes. I’ll gladly take this one on for you,” he murmured into her hair. It smelled like raspberries. 

In turn, she tightened her arms around him. “I don’t want you to take anything on  _ for  _ me. I want you to take it on  _ with  _ me.” 

“Sometimes that means the same thing, darling.” She didn’t reply, so he lifted her chin with a finger, meeting her eyes. “We’re going to go to France, and you’re going to rest, and everything will be fine.” After a pregnant pause she nodded tentatively, and he kissed her softly. “Let me finish up here, and Mr Potter will be back shortly.”

“You really should just call him Harry,” she smiled, leaning back to look at him fondly. He just rolled his eyes in response. She kissed his cheek and slid from his lap. “I suppose I should pack…” 

“Bigsy is already taking care of it. Just relax.” He could see her warring with herself, but she eventually retook her place on the sofa, and picked through a stack of books beside her. He was finishing the last letter when Draco stormed in, his grey eyes hard and his jaw set in frustration.

“I just made the biggest breakthrough of my career and you’re telling me I have to set it aside and  _ leave _ two days before Christmas?” 

“No, I’m telling you to  _ relocate _ for the time being, for your safety. The Greengrasses or even the Zabinis would be sufficient, I think. You’re spending Christmas with them anyway, I don’t see the issue.” Lucius explained evenly, sealing his letters with emerald green wax, tapping two of them with his wand to emboss the Malfoy family crest into the wax. The third he pressed his signet ring into, silently cursing the green drop that clung to the edge of the ring. “If not for yourself, then do it for Astoria.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but the floo roared to life, and a man with red hair appeared, his blue eyes falling first on Hermione before noticing Draco and Lucius facing off over the desk. 

“Arthur,” Lucius greeted him smoothly, not the least bit surprised by his appearance. Arthur was fiercely protective of his brood, of which he considered Hermione to belong. 

“Lucius, I was hoping to have a moment with Hermione.” 

Hermione snorted from her place on the sofa. “You hardly need his permission, Arthur. I need the library though, so you might as well come with me and you two,” she addressed Lucius and Draco, “can finish throwing your fits.” She took an armful of volumes and marched from the room. Lucius found it amusing that Arthur still looked to him for approval to go after her. He indicated the door with a tilt of his head, and the redhead scurried after the witch.

An echo of him begging her to consider what she was doing reached them before the door shut behind him. Draco watched him go with an expression of distaste, and turned back to face Lucius, seeming to have been struck speechless. 

“It will be temporary. Take your work with you, if you must, or have Aurora take it and make use of Hogwarts once more. I’m sure Minerva wouldn’t object. Bigsy and a couple others will be coming with us, but the other elves will remain if you have need.” 

“Tori is getting to be quite fond of Millie, we’ll be fine. I’ll owl Vera and Tori.” He looked vaguely irritated, and then sighed, resignation clear. “You couldn’t pick someone less complicated, could you? It just  _ had _ to be Golden Girl Granger. Or should I start calling her Step-mother?” 

Lucius glared at his son. “Don’t let her catch you calling her that. I won’t stop her if she feels as if a broken nose is a proper response.” Draco’s lips twitched. 

“I think a broken nose would be getting off easy now. She’s scary when she wants to be. I still can’t believe she let you off on that trick with the lift.” Draco shook his head, smirking. Lucius dropped his glare and chuckled. “Well. Enjoy Paris. We will see you for dinner tomorrow night.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered from the room. 

Lucius watched him go, wondering when his son had gone from the teething infant to the arrogant teenager to the man that set aside his desires for the safety of the woman he loved. He thought back to the day he stood in Minerva’s office with a handful of the school governors because Draco’s instincts told him to defend his first love; a muggleborn girl that Lucius had assumed to be nothing special, but that years down the road would speak the words that would change Lucius’ life. 

Hazel Harlow had died that evening, and tensions were high, the fear of the return of the Dark Lord’s followers keeping everyone on edge. Lucius had already changed, had already made the decision that who he had been wasn’t who he was going to be. But in the moment that he listened to his son’s friends panic and their hearts break, Rose had approached him, and quietly told him, “whatever happened tonight wasn’t your fault or responsibility. 

“My family was inconsequential, even an inconvenience to you, and you still saved us. I still don’t know if you did it because you wanted to, or believed a word you said. I like to think you did it for more than the convenience and shock value to make your way back in, but the why doesn’t matter much to me. Honestly just revenge for what he said about you would be more than enough reason for me… But I’ll never stop being grateful to you. Others will see it, but only if you don’t let it end here. I know you’re angry, that you feel like everything you’ve been working on is for nothing, but how you react, how you use this to continue or to halt your work will define you. Show the world what I see in you.” 

He should have been angry for her candor, but it had been what he’d needed at that moment. He left the room and came straight to this desk to begin drafting a proposal to the Wizengamot for a law that . He’d sent a copy to Rose the next week, with a short note. 

_ I did it because it was right.  _

She hadn’t answered, but he hadn’t expected her to. It didn’t need to be said. He was still fighting for what he privately thought of as Rose’s Law to be passed, but he would fight until his last breath if that’s what it took. Like the ones he’d written for Hermione, no one would ever know it had been written for the muggleborn ex girlfriend of a Death Eater. People assumed it was written for pure-blooded Hazel Harlow. Her death had been the catalyst, but Rose had been the beginning. 

***

Hermione was halfway down the hall when Arthur caught up to her. 

“Are you sure you’re making the right choice?” She stopped dead in her tracks, her inner lioness rearing its head. 

Arthur held his hands up in a gesture of complacency. “To leave, not with Lucius,” he clarified. She sighed, turning and proceeding down the hall at a much more reasonable pace. Arthur fell in step beside her, letting her gather her thoughts. She’d always liked that about her pseudo-father. He never rushed her. Not like Ron or Harry who just expected her to have an answer ready. No, he gave her time and patience, which she so desperately needed and he just seemed to instinctively know. 

“No,” she finally admitted as they reached the bottom of the marble staircase. “But it’s the best solution to the problem that I can see.” 

“You know you’re both welcome at the Burrow, with us.” 

“I know. But with Ron there it would be awkward, and I think Lucius needs to feel as if he’s providing some bit of protection.” Hermione bit her lip, and Arthur chuckled. 

“Oh he does. It’s a man thing,” he assured her. “Which is precisely why I’m here too. I just want you to be safe. I know you’re perfectly capable, but I’ve had you under my care since you were fourteen and Molly and I consider you just as much ours as we do the rest of our kids.” He smiled gently. 

For a moment Hermione let herself slip into the roll of a daughter once more. She stopped, clutching the books to her chest. “What am I supposed to do?” She looked up at him, beseeching. He had the same blue eyes that Ron did, but Arthur’s were warmer, softened over years with experiences, love, and loss. 

“You do what you must. You do what you can’t fathom  _ not  _ doing, but you do it for you, not because you think that Harry or Lucius or I expect or want it. Follow your instincts.” 

She mulled over his words as they began to walk again. It was rare, these quiet moments with Arthur. Usually he was in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the Burrow, of the Order, of the Ministry. She remembered the first time she’d gotten a moment like this with him. It was summer before their fourth year, after the quidditch World Cup. She’d sought him out, asking what the Dark Mark’s appearance meant for  _ her.  _ He’d been sitting on the porch, staring up at the stars and she’d made him jump. He’d told her it meant she needed to be careful, but that she’d always have a place with them, no matter what. 

The next summer she found herself seeking him out at Grimmauld place, worried over her new position as prefect and her OWLs, and because her own father didn’t understand what it meant to be in a world that Voldemort existed. When he’d been attacked by Nagini, she’d wept tears of despair along with the rest of the Weasleys. 

When she'd been preparing to go on the Horcrux hunt, he gave her access to everything she needed while carefully looking the other way, giving himself reasonable doubt with Molly. He’d been responsible for their survival every bit as much as Hermione herself. Arthur had been the one that she’d turned to when her parents had been so angry with her when she reversed the memory charm. When she’d returned for her eighth year at Hogwarts, he’d been the one that had told her it was okay; she didn’t have to skip right into the workforce like Harry and Ron had. 

After she and Ron had broken up, he had given her a hug, and told her that she was still theirs, regardless of her status with his son. He’d been the one to tell her how proud he was of her work with the Magical Education department. She wasn’t sure when, but at some point it was his approval that she began to crave, and he never hesitated to give it. It’s why she wasn’t surprised that he’d been the first after Harry and Ginny to accept her relationship with Lucius. 

“I can’t leave him knowing he’s in just as much danger as I am,” she finally said, deep within the stacks of the Malfoy library. He just nodded. 

“I know. Just promise me you won’t go looking for trouble.” His blue eyes twinkled as he repeated the same words he’d been telling the trio since their third year. She laughed, setting the books down and looking for the ones she’d glimpsed earlier. 

“Molly won’t be too mad, will she?” She fiddled with a satin ribbon marker in one of the books, and he shrugged. 

“Leave Molly to me.” She nodded distractedly. 

“What did you say to Lucius?”

“Which time?”

“Before we went to breakfast, he said you went to see him.” 

Arthur suddenly looked somewhat sheepish. “I wanted to see for myself that he was serious about you.”

She snorted. “And?” 

“And I was pleasantly surprised.” He gave her a crooked smile, so much like Charlie’s. She smiled back, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have been surprised, if we’re going to be honest. But I think he’s good for you, and you him.”

His words lifted a weight from her shoulders, so they so often had in the past. He had a way of cutting through her insecurities and reminding her that she didn’t always have to be the one with all the answers. Moments like this made her chest ache for her father, but Arthur made the ache bearable. 

He shook his head at the growing pile of books in her arms. “Come on. Let’s get you back so Harry doesn’t send out a search party.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much ground to cover, so little time! Next time: They’re off to Paris!


	29. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Hermione relocate to Paris

Arthur and Hermione returned to the study just in time to hear, “please tell me Arthur is here.” 

“I’m right here, Harry.” Arthur said mildly, and Hermione hoped that his presence would be enough to assuage Harry from any outbursts of fraternal protectiveness, but she should have known better.

“Are you staying then?” Harry sounded hopeful, and Hermione caught the tightening of Lucius’ jaw behind him. 

“No, Harry. My place is with Lucius.” She set the stack of books down carefully, and moved to Lucius’ side to make her point clear. He immediately slipped an arm around her waist and she molded herself to his side, feeling a bit of their shared tension slip away at the contact. 

“I wasn’t here to try to talk her out of going, Harry,” Arthur murmured. “You should know better by now than trying to change her mind.” Harry sighed, pushing his glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Everything is in place for your protective detail in Paris,” he said, eyes still tightly shut. He dropped his glasses back into place and Hermione could see him slipping from brother mode into his auror role. “Marcel and Matthieu Dumont along with Marcel’s assistant are arriving at Chateau de Malfoy in an hour, with three French aurors that will rotate as your protective detail. My aurors were refused joint custody by the French ministry,” he added, a note of bitterness in his voice. Hermione wanted to reassure him, but he went on. 

“As suggested, the floo access was restricted to three points; your floo here,” he indicated the fireplace behind him, “one to the DMLE outside my office and one to the office of the British ambassador at the French Ministry.” Harry took two items from his pockets. He handed an old muggle fountain pen to Lucius and a leather bookmark to Hermione. “These are emergency portkeys, that will bring you directly to an established safehouse in case something happens and you’re separated.”

Hermione could feel the blood draining from her face, and Lucius tightened his hold on her waist. Arthur was staring resolutely at a spot on the bookcase, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. From where she was standing, Hermione could see the bright white scars on his neck from Nagini’s attack, and she suddenly wondered if he had any residual complications. Thinking about his well-being felt safer than worrying about her own. 

“I’ll be personally checking in with you daily, and I’ll meet you here to escort you to Christmas at the Burrow. As soon as this nightmare is over, we’ll have you back and everything will be back to normal.” Harry finally met Hermione’s eyes, and she looked into the bright green that she knew so well. 

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered, hoping he understood that she meant for more than just arranging their protection. It was for years of friendship and countless times they’d fought each other’s battles and for being the brother she’d never had. He opened his arms, and she threw herself at him, knocking the breath from his lungs and hugging him so tightly she could feel his ribs protest. 

“Fuck, ‘Mione. Nobody’s dying.” He was stretching his neck upwards, trying to escape the mess of curls that she knew tickled his nose and made him sneeze. She squeezed harder, and let go, capturing his hand with hers. It was a familiar gesture, one they’d repeated thousands of times, but always took her back to their first year, and once again they were eleven years old and he was the boy that stood up to a troll for her. “You okay?” His eyes searched hers, and she had to blink away the tears gathering in her eyes. 

She nodded mutely, releasing his hand and returning to Lucius’ side. Her chest ached, and she couldn’t properly explain why she was so emotionally volatile. The hand on her waist tightened briefly, and she snaked her arm around him in return. Lucius was solid and steady, a pillar in a storm. She felt if she held on tightly enough, she’d be okay. 

Minutes and a hasty goodbye to Arthur later, they were stepping through the floo. The first thing she noticed was the windows. Enormous windows seemed to take up the majority of what should have been the walls separating them from the gardens. 

“Welcome to Paris, my dear.” Lucius had been quietly reserved while the two other men had invaded his study, but now they were alone, he relaxed. “I’d hoped to bring you here under better circumstances, but I suppose this will have to do.” 

Hermione was vaguely aware that her eyes were probably the size of saucers and she couldn’t quite get her mouth to close properly. He pulled her gently through the rooms, and she followed, in awe of the beautiful space around her. It was all white and gold, dazzling and so very different from the Manor. Narcissa had transformed it after the war, and it still had nothing on the chateau. Hermione was struggling to breathe, trying to convince herself that she was still ill, and this was a figment of her fever-addled brain. This couldn’t be real. 

“Darling, _breathe_ . I would hate for our guests to arrive to their hostess incapacitated.” _Our_ guests. Their _hostess._ Sweet Mother of Merlin Hermione was in over her head. 

Lucius pulled her to a stop, standing in front of her and placing his hands on either side of her face. Brown met silver, and her thoughts quieted. “I’m sorry this has been so overwhelming for you. Is there anything I can do to help?” She closed her fingers around his wrists, feeling his pulse in her fingertips. Strong and steady. 

“I think I need to sit down,” she finally managed, her voice sounding entirely too breathy for her liking. He guided her to a nearby sofa, sitting beside her and cradling her as if she was made of glass. He stroked her hair and held her hand until she sat up straight. “Can you show me the rest before they get here?” She sounded more like herself, and Lucius looked relieved at her tenacity. 

“If you’re ready.” She nodded firmly, determination burning in her eyes. She laced her fingers through his as he led her through the massive house, listening intently and asking various questions. She absorbed the information he gave her like a sponge, and felt like she was back in her element for a time. Learning, acquiring information; that she could do, and do well. 

Her anxiety spiked when Bigsy appeared some time later, informing them that their guests had arrived. She pushed it down, resolving not to allow herself to be the victim or the damsel in distress. She was going to face the unknown like the Gryffindor she was, Godric help her. 

Stepping into the drawing room at Lucius’ side, she quickly took stock of the room. The Hogwarts Potions Master, Mathieu, was standing alone off to one side, his back to the door. The other man, that could only be his father, was deep in conversation with a woman around Hermione’s age. All three were blond, though the older man, Marcel, was fading gracefully from gold to grey.

“Ah! Lucius!” Marcel’s voice wasn’t as deep as she expected, and his blue eyes sparkled brightly when he caught sight of Hermione. The girl’s eyebrows shot up, and Mathieu turned, a look of open curiosity on his handsome features.

“Hermione, darling. My cousin, Marcel. I think you know Mathieu from Hogwarts, and this charming young lady is Hope Hollingsworth, Rose’s younger sister.” Hermione nodded politely at each in turn. 

“My dear lady, I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance!” Marcel stepped forward, taking her hand and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Lucius has been singing your praises for years! Mathieu likewise told me how utterly charming you were.” Hermione went pink, shooting a sidelong glance at Lucius, who rolled his eyes. 

Mathieu approached, murmuring something in French that sounded like a rebuke, but turned to Hermione with a smile. “Lovely to see you again, Ms Granger.” 

“Hermione,” she corrected quickly. They’d met in passing a few times, but before now she hadn’t realized why he looked so familiar. His hair was dark gold and wavy, his eyes smoky blue edged in grey, but she could definitely see the family resemblance to Draco and Lucius now. 

“Hermione,” he acquiesced with a smile. “Lucius,” he greeted with an equally easy smile before returning to the spot he’d stood in when they’d come in. Upon closer inspection, he was scanning a full bookshelf. 

The girl, Hope, stood back looking uncomfortable. “How are you, Ms Hollingsworth?” Lucius asked politely, but Hermione could see the girl stiffen. 

“Well, thank you, Mr Malfoy. Thank you for having me. Ms Granger,” she bobbed her head once in Hermione’s direction, and she couldn’t help but think how much she wasn’t like her older sister. 

“Hope, don’t be shy now!” Marcel smiled warmly at the girl. “Lucius doesn’t bite, as you well enough know. And Hermione is sure to be an absolute delight!” Both women flushed slightly, and Lucius cleared his throat. 

“Marcel, why don’t we have a drink and allow them to acquaint themselves?” He waved to a door that connected the drawing room to a study not unlike Lucius’ at the manor. Marcel practically bounced at the idea, and Lucius kissed Hermione’s forehead gently before following his cousin. Mathieu didn’t seem to notice or care, still examining the bookshelf. 

Hermione smiled nervously at Hope, who looked confused at Lucius’ retreating back. “Hope, you were in Hufflepuff, weren’t you?” The girl looked surprised, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. 

“Yes, I was. My fifth year.” 

“A chaser for the quidditch team, right?” Hope’s eyebrows drew together in evident confusion.

“I’m not much of a quidditch fan, but Ginny was, and I had to listen to her complain all year about the Hufflepuff chasers,” Hermione explained quickly. “I recently had a meeting with your sister for work, too.” Hermione was getting pinker by the minute, but Hope’s expression relaxed, and she sat down. Hermione followed suit. 

“Ginny Weasley was the one to beat. It didn’t surprise me at all when she signed with the Harpies.” For the first time since they’d gotten there, Hope gave a true smile. 

“It’s Potter now, but she’s still going strong with the Harpies.” 

“She was at the school, a few months back I think,” Mathieu spoke up from his place in front of the bookcase.

“Probably. She and Harry like to go back and cheer on Gryffindor sometimes.” Hermione smiled brightly. “I go occasionally too, but I’m afraid I’m less invested now my friends aren’t the ones playing.” 

Mathieu chuckled, finally leaving the books to take a seat across from Hermione. “Neville mentioned you were not much of a fan.” Hermione went pink and turned back to Hope.

“What are you doing here in Paris?” 

“I work in magical art restoration and preservation with Marcel.” Her eyes flicked to the large painting on the wall beside the door. It was an oil painting of a nature scene, a meadow filled with wildflowers and a little stream that gurgled silently.

“That’s amazing. Do you know Lucius well, from your sister?” Hermione immediately got the impression she’d said something wrong. Hope’s shoulders tensed and she crossed both her arms and her legs. 

“Mrs Malfoy was the one to secure my position here,” she said softly. “But I don’t know Mr Malfoy well, no.” Hermione nodded hesitantly. She wasn’t quite sure where that put her in Hope’s mind. 

“Lucius is very generous,” Mathieu said lightly, more towards Hope than Hermione. “He was the one that arranged for my mother’s care at St Mungo’s, despite her blood status.” Hermione saw his jaw tighten but didn’t fully comprehend until he clarified at her look of confusion, “she was a muggle.” 

Hermione nodded, keeping her mouth firmly shut. Hope glared at an empty corner of the room. Mathieu shook his head, and asked Hermione a benign question about something Hogwarts related. They chatted idly for a while until Bigsy appeared, informing them it was time for dinner. 

The house elf looked around uncertainly at Hermione’s thanks. “Would the mistress like Bigsy to inform Master Lucius?” 

Hermione sighed. “I’m not your mistress, Bigsy. But no, I’ll let him know.” At some point Mathieu had stretched out his impossibly long legs and thrown his arm over the back of the sofa, looking completely at home and relaxed compared to Hermione and Hope who were both on edge and seconds away from springing from their seats at any given moment. He cocked his head at her response to the house-elf, but didn’t say a word when she excused herself, moving to the door and slipping through. 

Lucius’ back was to the door, but to his credit, he didn’t jump when she slid her hands over his shoulders. “Dinner is ready.” He tilted his head back and she leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips before withdrawing. Marcel looked on with an expression that reminded Hermione very much of the expression Anthony had on when he’d first witnessed their affection.

It all felt so domestic and normal until she caught looks like that, and suddenly she was reminded of how they got to this point, and she inevitably felt as if she was doing something wrong. She quickly withdrew her hands from his shoulders, and cleared her throat. “I’ll be down in a minute. I need to go…” She didn’t even bother finishing the thought as she was already halfway out the door that led to the hallway, not back to the drawing room. She wasn’t quite sure where her feet were taking her until she found herself in the music room that Lucius had pointed out shortly after their tour began. 

The focal point of the room was a beautifully polished grand piano, and though she didn’t play, she took a seat before it. Her mother had played, and she remembered sitting beside her, watching her fingers dance over the black and white keys. Theirs had been an old upright, and some of the ivory had been cracked and chipped in places. It was nothing like this piece of art that sat looking like it had never been touched by human hands. 

She reached out a finger and stroked a key with one finger. Middle C. Where all the greats had started and where she’d never really gotten past. She wondered if her mother still played. Christmas songs had been her favorite, full of joy and her father would sing off-key because he knew it would make her happy. 

She shook herself from her guilt and sadness. She was in Paris, with the man that she loved. The man that was currently sitting down to dinner without her because she was letting her emotions get the best of her again. So she hurried down the hallways that she’d been careful to memorize and into the dining room. Like most of the rooms, one side was nearly completely made of glass. It was dark outside, meaning the light reflected and made it into what was essentially a large mirror. 

The three men stood when she entered the room, earning a look of disdain from the American witch. Hermione ignored it, taking her place at Lucius’ left, with Mathieu on her other side. 

“My apologies for being late. I had something to take care of.” 

“No need for apologies, darling.” Lucius was looking at her like he was trying to see into her mind, but as far as she knew, he wasn’t a legilimens. Marcel and Mathieu were looking vaguely intrigued, while Hope was looking at her like Hermione had killed her cat. Marcel recaptured Lucius’ attention, and Mathieu was talking to hope about something that sounded like one needed to be there to understand. This was fine with Hermione, she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to anyone at the moment. 

Dinner was rather quiet, and the five of them quickly dispersed. Mathieu had asked Lucius for permission to use the potions work room to brew something that he needed for the school, and Hope disappeared with Marcel as he said something about an art gallery inventory. She and Lucius retired to the study, where Bigsy had left the stack of books she’d collected from the library before leaving the manor. Lucius was looking at her as if he was trying to see through her again, and she sighed. 

“Stop doing that, Lucius. I’m fine.” He looked personally affronted.

“I’m not doing anything.” 

“You’re looking at me like I’m about to keel over. I’m fine.” 

“I was simply wondering if you were feeling well enough to try dancing again.” 

“I didn’t think there was a ballroom here,” she said carefully.

“We don’t need one. Come with me.” He stood, holding his hand out for her to take. He led them back to the music room, and with a swish of his wand, cleared the center of the room. The piano slid smoothly into the corner, and several velvet-covered chairs pressed themselves to the wall. Another flick, and the piano began to play.

Hermione fit herself easily into his arms, and let him lead her into a relatively simple waltz. It was easier this time, Hermione thought. Maybe because she wasn’t thinking about it. Her thoughts were still wrapped around her parents, wondering if tonight her mother was sitting at the keys, her father singing _Deck the Halls_ with gusto, a cup of overly boozy eggnog in hand. 

“I don’t need to be a legilimens to know something is bothering you, my dear.” His voice was low in her ear, and she closed her eyes, wishing he was a little less observant sometimes. 

“Sometimes I just feel as if I go about things the wrong way,” she finally admitted. “Maybe I do it for the right reasons, but what does it matter if the end result isn’t… Worth it is the wrong sentiment. I suppose if the end result isn’t what I wanted it to be, because I did something wrong?” 

Lucius got the distinct feeling this was something that had been floating around in her mind for quite some time. 

“I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone, or be hurt, and yet I can’t seem to stop it.” He let her keep talking, getting it all out. He’d suspected that she’d open up while in his arms, but he hadn’t anticipated just how much rattled around her brilliant mind. When she finally fell silent, he counted out four three-counts. Twelve steps, just to be sure she was done. 

“Now what are you really worried about?” 

She stopped cold on the floor, the sudden change in momentum nearly knocking them both over. He slipped both hands around her waist, and waited. 

“My parents. And us.” Her voice was so small it made his chest ache. “I came to Paris with them once. It was lovely and now we’re here and all I can think of is them… Without me. Because I made a choice. And I keep wondering if down the line I’ll make a choice, and that will be the end.” 

Lucius pulled her in closer, breathing in the scent of raspberries mingling with vanilla and pineapple. “If my life has taught me anything, it is that endings are always beginnings. Some are more obvious than others, but it’s always true.” 

He let her digest that for a moment, and then pulled back. “For instance. You’ve mastered the waltz, so our time with it is done for now. Time to start the foxtrot.” He smiled triumphantly, and she blanched. 

“But I have to see it! And somehow I don’t think Neville and Hannah will be cleared by Harry for _dance lessons._ ”

“We don’t need anyone else.” 

“But--” he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. 

“Do you trust me?” He didn’t remove his finger, so she nodded hesitantly. “Good. Come with me.” 

He wasn’t entirely sure this was a good idea, but he hadn’t been sure about bringing her to Paris either. He took her to a small room that stood mostly empty, only a small table with an ornate dish sitting on top. Inside, silvery mist swirled around. He motioned to it, and her eyes went comically wide. 

“That’s… But you… I don’t…” She was tripping over herself and shaking her head. 

“It’s just various balls and dances to give you an idea. Nothing more.” He smoothed his hand over her back, and she looked up at him, guilt flooding her golden brown eyes. “Do you trust me?” 

She took a deep breath and touched the surface. He was right behind her and together they dove into his memories. When in Rome, as they say. Or in this case, Paris.


	30. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius teaches her the foxtrot, and then her trust in him is shattered.

Swirling mist made way for a ballroom full of colorful gowns and dress robes. He looked down to Hermione, whose eyes were wide and her hands were balled into tight fists at her side. He slid a hand across her back, urging her to relax. 

This first memory was of a summertime ball held by the Avery family, back before the second rise of the Dark Lord. He thought it would have been the summer after Draco and Hermione’s first year at Hogwarts. Through the crowd, he spied himself and Narcissa on the edge of the dance floor, speaking to Cornelius Fudge and several other ministry officials. 

He watched Hermione closely, still unsure if it was a good idea to bring her into his memories, but it was the easiest way to allow her to see the steps. He didn’t think Ms Hollingsworth was a dancer, and even if she was, the daggers she was glaring at Hermione through dinner would have kept him from asking. 

He pointed out Vera Greengrass and talked Hermione through the foxtrot as she and Clarence danced. Hermione studied her feet, encased in salmon-pink shoes that matched her dress. Lucius looked up at the flash of lavender to his left and saw Walter Bainbridge leading Narcissa across the floor. His memory-self was watching carefully over Cornelius Fudge’s shoulder, admiring how graceful she appeared even without a partner that could lead properly. 

Lucius turned his attention back to Hermione, pointing out how Vera was not rising and falling, like with the waltz, but each careful step kept her level. She nodded absent-mindedly, and for once Lucius was grateful that she was subject to tunnel vision when she was focused. The music ended, and the memory changed, mist fading from the bright colors of summer to a black and white ball thrown as a Ministry function the year Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban.

His eyes immediately fell to himself and Narcissa, his black dress robes contrasting sharply against the slinky white gown that Narcissa wore. He remembered the dress well, and how long it hadn’t lasted once they’d returned to the empty manor. It had torn quite satisfactorily down the middle. Narcissa had rolled her eyes, but any objections had been smothered by his mouth on hers. 

He indicated Cordelia Parkinson this time, who was dancing with a very smug looking Gawain Robards. Hermione was able to name some of the steps they used this time, and she looked up at him, her eyes bright. 

“I think I’m ready to try.” He smirked at her surprise when he took her into his arms right there in the memory. 

They moved across the dance floor, Lucius moving them expertly between the couples from his memory. Hermione stumbled a few times, but her trust in him was growing, and she focused less on the figures swirling around them, and more on his arms around her. He could see it in the way her eyes stopped flicking away when she thought they were getting too close to someone in her peripheral vision, and stayed trained on his face. His eyes stayed on her as the scene changed again, and his chest tightened. He knew what he would see when he looked up, and he wished he hadn’t chosen this particular memory. Ice blue silk and chiffon swirled at the edge of his vision, and he pulled Hermione closer. Her hand tightened on his, and his breath caught. 

They slowed to a stop, and she rested her head against his chest, watching the couple dancing to their left. Draco was smiling broadly, Astoria’s shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“Mother, you’re just showing off now,” Draco chuckled, and Lucius steeled himself for the laugh that was coming. It wasn’t enough, and it felt like a kick to the gut to hear Narcissa’s answering giggle. 

“Lucius? When was this?” Hermione pulled back slightly, looking past Draco to memory-Lucius dancing with Narcissa. 

“May 17th, 2003.” He’d thought of this night so many times, wondering if he would have done something different if he’d known it would be the last time he would spin her around the floor; if he’d known this would be the last time he would see her in all her glory. 

Hermione slipped her arms around his waist, holding him close. “Of all the memories you could have chosen… Why this one?” 

He could have lied and told her it was for the dance. He could have said it was the first one that popped into his head. But the truth settled on his shoulders, he knew he couldn’t keep it from her. “I needed you to see it.” 

He hoped she would understand that it wasn’t malicious; he wasn’t attempting to make her uncomfortable or self-conscious. He needed her to know what it meant for him to dance with her as he once had with Narcissa. It was an exercise of trust, and Lucius’ heart tightened with Hermione’s arms around him. Her hand slid up and down over his back in a comforting sweep, and he focused on breathing until her hand slowed. 

“I know you say it’s different, that she and I will never compete, but you don’t have to prove anything. I mean, you’ve already proven all I needed.” Hermione’s voice was soft, and she fell quiet as the music swelled, the memory-couples spinning around them in time. 

The music began to fade, and the scene changed once more. This time it wasn’t a ballroom that materialized, but the Great Hall at Hogwarts. He heard her breath catch when she realized what this was. The start of term staff party, the year before. The professors, school governors and their significant others joined for dinner and dancing before the students returned. Minerva had invited Hermione, and Lucius had finally returned after Narcissa’s death. 

Lucius looked around, knowing he’d find memory-Hermione sitting next to Filius Flitwick, neither of them paying any attention to the dance floor. His memory self was leading a tipsy and giggling Aurora through the crowd, and through her inebriation, she didn’t notice that his attention was focused on the young woman laughing at something her former professor was saying. 

“Were you... “ the Hermione in his arms trailed off, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Were you watching me?” 

“You underestimate how captivating you are, my dear. But you’re meant to be focusing on the dance steps, or have you forgotten?” 

“I…” He didn’t allow her to finish her thought before he swept her alongside his memory-self and Aurora. This time her eyes stayed glued to his face, and he smiled after several measures without any missteps or stumbles.

“You are an extraordinarily quick learner, darling.”

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” she said. “But it helps to have a good teacher.” She smiled up at him, her eyes warm. Her smile faltered a moment later, and Lucius narrowed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She shook her head, and he pulled her into an abrupt stop, memory-Minerva and Axios misting around their elbows, reforming on their other side. 

“I’m just getting a little tired. I don’t want to stop, though,” she added quickly at his look of concern. 

“If you’re tired, we should stop now. We can continue tomorrow, perhaps with Draco and Astoria. They’ll be here for dinner.” Her shoulders rounded, and he fought back a chuckle at her disappointment. “Or we can continue like this, if it’s not too uncomfortable.”

She looked back up at him, cocking her head. He released her, waving a hand and allowing the pensieve to deposit them back into the room at the chateau. They walked in silence back to the room where Bigsy had deposited Hermione’s belongings. The room was all cream and gold, gauzy curtains hiding the dark glass windows from view, the fire casting a warm glow around the room. It was smaller than the blue suite at the manor, but no less lavish and certainly no less comfortable. If anything, Lucius thought it was more suited to Hermione’s liking. 

He was surprised when she pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. Her hands fisted his robes and he let his fingers tangle in her curls. She tasted sweet and warm, and he devoured her short, panting breaths. He teased her tongue with his, flicking and exploring like it was the first time all over again. He was moving towards the column of her neck when there was a squeak of surprise, and Hermione ripped herself backwards, out of his arms. 

“I’m sorry! Wrong room!” Hope was standing in the doorway staring, her eyes wide. With a warning look from Lucius, she backed from the room, her face vividly red. Hermione was likewise flushing, smoothing down her robes nervously and averting her eyes. Lucius felt a flicker of disappointment, but decided it was for the best. 

“I should be going. I need to ensure Marcel hasn’t rearranged my art collection and make sure they have all been cared for appropriately.” He pushed down the regret at leaving her alone, telling himself their current housemates couldn’t be trusted to be as discreet as Draco and Astoria. It may even be better this way; his control was growing tenuous. “I’ll see you in the morning, my dear. Sleep well.” 

She looked slightly put out, but nodded. She watched him go, feeling quite bereft without his presence as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised he wouldn’t be staying; it wasn’t as if she’d given him a reason to. And then there was the matter of his memories that evening. Her heart had ached to see his obvious devotion to his late wife, but it had shocked her into near silence when she realized that he’d paid significantly more attention to her since Narcissa’s death than she’d previously understood. 

The night of the Hogwarts staff party, she’d spent much of the evening talking to Filius and Pomona, doing her best to stick to safe topics and safer people. She’d steered clear from Lucius and even Neville and Aurora. She’d just been named Assistant Director at the Ministry, and didn’t want to be seen as another brown-nosing politician. She hadn’t wanted to be seen as a war hero or an impossible ex-student. Minerva had assured her she wouldn’t be seen as any of those things, but she’d done her best to ensure it anyway. 

Now… Now she wondered how many other times she’d been observed, and by whom, without her noticing. 

Her mind was still racing as she opened the wardrobe to change, and was relieved to find one of Lucius’ pajama tops that she’d come to favor over her own pajamas. Slipping it on, she buried her nose in the silk, smelling him on the fabric. She focused on the warm scent as she slipped between the sheets, but it wasn’t enough to keep the empty ache at bay without him there beside her. 

***

Dark, fuzzy shapes were fading from her mind, but she could feel her hair sticking to her cheeks and neck. A masculine voice was saying something, but she couldn’t understand what was being said. She opened her eyes to a tall figure looming over her, the shadow of a wand being held aloft. She screamed, reaching for her own wand and throwing herself back, away from the man.

The wand tip hovering over her flared with light, and a young face framed in golden curls came into focus. Mathieu’s blue eyes were concerned, but he took a step back, even as the door was flung open, and Hope appeared, her wand held defensively before her. She approached carefully, lowering her wand when she reached Mathieu’s side. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get anything out, the door slammed open once more and Lucius strode in, a look of cold fury on his features. A wave of his wand and candles around the room sprang to life, filling the space with a warm glow. 

“Hermione?” He rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. She leaned into the warmth of his body, her heart still hammering and her breathing uneven. “Would you care to explain yourselves,” Lucius shot at the two standing with their wands still in hand. Both were now sporting distinctly uncomfortable expressions, and Hope was crossing her arms over a very revealing lace and silk teddy. 

Mathieu cleared his throat, shifting his gaze away from Hermione and Lucius. “She was crying out.”

“I think screaming bloody murder is a better description,” Hope spat, shifting on bare feet, arms tightly across the silk that tugged across her otherwise bare breasts. Hermione glared at her, even through the tears still trickling from her eyes. Hope glared right back.

“What is your problem?” Hermione snapped, sitting straight up, straining against Lucius’ hold. Hope clenched her jaw, defiance shining in her eyes.

“For a _hero_ ,” she emphasized the word like it was dirty, “you sure need a lot of saving, don’t you?” She turned with a flip of her long blonde hair and a wave of her freshly pink-polished hand, storming out of the room. Mathieu looked somewhere between shocked and scandalized, and he blinked several times at the door before looking back at Hermione and Lucius. 

“I will go speak with her,” Mathieu said quickly, and beat a hasty retreat. 

Lucius flicked his wand, locking the door firmly behind him, and Hermione once again collapsed into his chest. “Please stay with me.” His stomach twisted at the fear evident in her voice, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Of course, my dear.” She shuffled over to allow him the room to slip between the covers beside her, and snuggled into his side. A wave of his hand and the candles dimmed and went out. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed after a stretch of silence. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

“I shouldn’t have left you here alone.” 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” She started to pull away, and he tightened his grip.

“I thought it would be better, for appearance’s sake. But appearances can be damned if it keeps you from the rest you need.” 

“I don’t care--”

“I know you don’t. But I care about you, and therefore care about what is said, especially with your typically Gryffindor lack of a sense of self-preservation.” She snorted, but didn’t dispute him. “I’ll stay with you whenever you’ll take me.” She nodded mutely, and he pressed another kiss into her hair. 

“Why does Hope hate me so much? What did I do? I barely even know her.”

Lucius sighed in the dark. “I think she has more of a problem with me than with you, darling. I’ll speak with her. Don’t worry yourself.” 

Despite his assurances, Hermione felt rather uneasy about the girl’s hostility, and something told her there was more to it.

***

Early the next afternoon, Hermione found herself greeting Draco and Astoria as they stepped through the floo, ready for their Christmas Eve dinner. 

Hermione had spent the majority of the day in one of the drawing rooms with her nose in a book, and had barely seen Lucius. Breakfast had been uncomfortable, with Hope glaring at Hermione, Lucius shooting warning looks at Hope and Mathieu, Mathieu studiously ignoring everything except his coffee, and Marcel chattering happily. Hermione suspected he’d had a sleeping potion the night before, and was completely unaware of the previous night’s events. She was relieved that she and Hope had managed to keep their paths from crossing for the rest of the day. 

“Where is everyone?” Draco glanced around the empty parlor, obviously surprised that it was Hermione there greeting them.

“Mathieu is in the potions workroom, he said he had something to do for school, Marcel was reading in the library, and Lucius is in his study. I’m not sure where Hope went,” she counted them off. 

Draco snorted. “Probably hiding from Father.”

“Or me,” Hermione groused. “I don’t know what the bloody hell I did, but she’s been acting like I killed her kneazle since we got here.” Astoria cocked her head, obviously interested, but Draco laughed.

“Pretty sure that’s just Little Miss Sunshine’s default state of being. Don’t take it too personally. If Rose was here, she’d tell her to stop being a bitch, but I think Hope would hex me if I tried.” 

“Better you than me,” Hermione grumbled as they made their way down the hall. She threw the door open to the study with a smile. “Look who--” She stopped cold, Draco walking into her back as she took in the scene before her. 

Lucius’ back was to the door, and Hope was wrapped around him, her pink-polished nails standing out in sharp relief against his platinum hair. 

“What the FUCK is going on,” Draco demanded, wrenching Hermione back out of the room. Based on the look on Astoria’s face, she’d seen exactly what Hermione had, and was just as surprised. Hermione got a glimpse of Lucius’ shocked expression, but she turned on her heel, marching down the hall. She passed the music room, stopping to stare at the piano that had been returned to its original place in the middle of the room. Her chest burned, and she made a split-second decision. She hurried back to the floo, calling out for Harry’s office. The auror floor was empty, so she simply turned, stepping back into the floo and calling out for The Burrow. 

The kitchen at the Burrow was bustling with activity, and Hermione managed to slip through without anyone even looking twice until she found Harry in the sitting room with Arthur. They both noticed her at the same time, shock coloring their features. 

Her tears began to fall when she whispered, “I trusted him.” 

***

It took several cups of overly sweetened tea and even more of Molly’s chocolate biscuits delivered to Ginny’s old bedroom before Hermione could explain what happened to a worried Arthur and an enraged Ginny and Harry. 

“I can’t fucking believe him,” Ginny hissed for the dozenth time since Hermione had shown up. Hermione stared miserably at the chipped teacup in her hands. 

Arthur was leaning against the window, looking out over the snow-covered orchard. He hadn’t said much, and Hermione wished he would say _something_. She trusted his judgement more than she trusted her own at this point. 

Harry was seething in the opposite corner, and nobody tried to stop him when he stormed out a few minutes later. Hermione flung herself back onto Ginny’s bed, and Ginny lay down next to her, lacing their fingers together, as they’d done so many times their last year at school together. 

“Why does this hurt more than Ron?” 

“Because my brother is a prat, but at least he was honest.” 

“Why would he show me his memories if none of it was real?” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and she shook her head. 

“I’ve known Lucius Malfoy for a very long time, Hermione. This doesn’t sound like him.” Hermione’s eyes popped open, and Ginny sat straight up. They both had forgotten Arthur was even there. 

“What do you mean?” Ginny was looking at her father like he’d grown a second head. 

“I mean, in school he was a bit of a playboy, but he was very strictly monogamous. During the trials, in both wars, there were Death Eaters that testified that he never so much as looked at the women they…” Arthur cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m just saying he’s changed in many ways, but I have a hard time believing he would do such a thing.”

“She _saw_ it, Dad!” 

“Then why did he come to me asking about her parents?” Arthur finally turned away from the window to face the two girls. Hermione’s head spun as she up, and Ginny gaped. 

“What did you say?” Hermione asked quietly. 

“Last week. He came here asking what happened between you and your parents. He said you were sick, and was afraid they needed to know.” Arthur’s blue eyes met Hermione’s. “I told him that you altered their memories, that you were no longer on speaking terms, but I thought you would entrust him with the rest when the time was right. He seemed genuinely distressed…” He turned back to the window, and shook his head.

Suddenly his question from the day before made sense. "Which time," he'd asked. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, and she laid back down, at a loss for all words except one. 

_Why?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh-oh! 
> 
> Do you think Ginny is right, or is Arthur on to something?


	31. Crushing

December 24, 2006

Lucius was  _ livid. _

There were few things that could inspire this kind of anger in him any longer, but somehow the younger Miss Hollingsworth had not just managed to make him the most angry he’d been since the death of Miss Harlow, but surpassed it by a great length. 

The whiskey in the decanter was icing over, and Astoria was shivering, pulling her cloak closer. Draco was kneeling at the fireplace, floo-calling the elder Miss Hollingsworth. The other four guests were nowhere in sight, and it was only Astoria’s full-body-bind that was keeping him from raising absolute  _ hell _ . 

He was going to kill the presumptuous little witch that gave Hermione the impression that his affections lay anywhere but with her. And then he was going to find Hermione and spend the next several decades groveling at her feet. Lucius had never groveled, but he was sure he could puzzle it out. He thought himself to be a smart man; at least he had, until roughly 11:17 that morning, when the door to his study swung open about half a second after Hope had surged up and kissed him with no warning. 

Hermione’s face had crumpled, Draco had shown his own fury, and Astoria’s quick wandwork was the likely the only reason Lucius wasn’t guilty of murder. Again. Hermione had walked away, and hadn’t been back since. If he lost her... Lucius internally berated himself. He couldn't think like that. 

The shield charm Astoria had thrown up to separate Hope and Lucius drove the girl neatly to the door to the drawing room, through which she promptly disappeared. She hadn’t returned either. Draco had caught Lucius’ arm in a crushing grip, demanding to know what he was thinking. Luckily, his son was not a stupid man, and understood very quickly that whatever he had seen was not all that it appeared to be. 

Draco withdrew his head from the fireplace with a grimace about the same time that Bigsy materialized at Astoria’s feet, holding a vial of blue potion. 

“Rose is making arrangements and will be at the Manor in fifteen minutes. I’m going to collect her and bring her here. Astoria is going to stay here with you, and ah yes. Right on time, Potter.” 

The door slammed open to reveal an enraged looking Harry, whose green eyes fell first to Draco, and then to a rigid Lucius, laid out on the sofa. 

“We were just discussing what is going to happen next,” Draco said calmly, as if they were discussing a dinner party menu. 

“There better be a really fucking good reason why Hermione is currently crying on my wife, and not here,” Harry snarled, his knuckles white around his wand. 

“Potter, lower your wand and listen,” Draco snapped. “Hope is to blame here, not my father. Granger left without the whole story. You bloody Gryffindors need to learn that not everything is as it first ap--”

“Draco!” Astoria cut in sharply. Harry looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak. Draco scowled but fell silent. “Harry, I know you’re angry, but so are we. Please sit down so we can discuss this like civilized people and not jump to any conclusions that are just going to make this worse for Lucius and Hermione.” She spoke firmly, and Harry sank into an armchair despite himself. 

“Now. Lucius, I’m going to lift the body-bind, and you’re going to take this.” She lifted the small vial of potion. “If you don’t, I’m stunning you, and I’m sure Harry will be all too pleased to back me up. Blink once if you agree to cooperate.” 

Harry looked as if he would be all too pleased to do a lot more than just stun him if he refused, so Lucius blinked once. The jinx’s hold released, and he groaned, but Astoria was pressing the vial into his hand as he sat upright. 

“Not a word until it’s gone,” Astoria warned. Draco was looking approvingly at his fiancée, and Harry was surprised that Lucius was actually listening. He swallowed the calming draught, and the room began to warm again as his anger faded. “Good. How do you feel?” 

Lucius glared up at Astoria, but the cold was still retreating, and it wasn’t as effective as his glare had been with the brunt of his anger behind it. “I need to speak to Hermione.” 

“That’s bloody well not happening until I decide you’re done being a prick,” Harry growled. 

“What about ‘not his fault’ are you not understanding, Potter?” Draco’s scowl returned, and again it was Astoria that came between them.

“Sit  _ down, _ Draco. We’re not going to get anywhere if you keep up the peacocking bullshit.” The three men all looked at her like she’d sprouted tentacles, and she rolled her eyes. “Lucius, care to share with the class what exactly happened?” 

Lucius grit his teeth, but the calming draught was working against his emotions, and he sighed, dropping his face into his hands. Had he looked up, he would have seen the shock from both Harry and Draco, who then looked to each other for confirmation that they were both seeing this. Astoria perched on the cushion next to him, laying a hand lightly on his shoulder. 

“The damn girl has acted like she’s been terrified of me for the last decade, but since we arrived here, she’s been cold to Hermione. Last night Hermione had a nightmare, and I was preceded to her room by Mattieu and Ms Hollingsworth. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a glare from Astoria. He sincerely hoped she and Ginny never found a reason to gang up on anyone. There would be bloodshed.

Lucius continued without missing a beat, his face still in his hands. “Ms Hollingsworth accused Hermione of using me, in not so many words. This morning she was very nearly openly hostile, and I intended to speak with her to determine what the problem was. She did not respond to my summons until just before Draco and Astoria were due to arrive. I hadn’t even had the opportunity to say more than hello and she was throwing herself at me. Even Angelica Zabini wasn’t so forward,” he scoffed, and Draco snorted.

“I didn’t even have time to react before Hermione was in the doorway looking like…” He trailed off, shaking his head. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry moaned. “So where is she?” He looked around at the other three, whose eyes widened in tandem. He shook his head, standing quickly. “For all your ‘self-preservation’ talk, you’d think you’d have a bit more common sense. Malfoy--” He paused when two sets of grey eyes landed on him. “Er… Right.  _ Draco… _ You and Tori take the east wing. Lucius is coming with me to the west wing. Can either of you produce a patronus?” 

Draco and Astoria shared a glance, and both nodded once. 

“Good. Send one to us if you find her, and we’ll do likewise.”

“I have to be at the manor to collect Rose,” Draco said stiffly. 

“Then get going, because I locked the floo, and it will stay that way until we find her so I can get her side of the story.” 

“And if she left before you arrived?” Draco was slipping back into his habit of sneering at his old rival. 

“Then she didn’t go by floo, and the French aurors haven’t stormed in, so she hasn’t breached the wards, either. She’s here somewhere.” Harry huffed at Draco’s obvious distrust. “Homium Revelio,” he said with a flick of his wand, and three shadows appeared, only one of which was a distinctly female form with long hair. 

“Then think smarter, not harder, Scarhead.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Millie.” 

A house elf that reminded Harry sharply of Dobby with her big green eyes appeared at his feet. “Will you please bring Hope here? Her presence is required and it’s not a request.” The house elf nodded, and less than a minute later, she reappeared with a tight grip on a young blonde witch. 

“Get off of me!” She was striking out towards the house elf when Lucius stopped her with a wave of his wand.

“That is quite enough, Ms Hollingsworth,” he said coldly. “You will treat my family and my staff with the respect they deserve.” It wasn’t until then that she seemed to realize where she was, and who was looking on. Her eyes grew wide and filled with tears at the sight of Lucius, Draco, and Harry staring down at her. Astoira had pulled the house elf out of Hope’s reach, and was whispering to her. 

“Well then. Potter, if you would be so kind. The floo?” Draco crossed his arms and looked pointedly away from the blonde witch. Harry flicked his wand in the general direction of the floo-connected fireplace, and Draco strode from the room. 

“Lucius is there somewhere I can speak to Ms Hollingsworth, to get her side of the story?” Harry glanced at the older wizard, who was obviously struggling to control his temper, even after the calming draught. 

“You may use this room. Astoria, come.” 

“Actually, Tori would you mind staying? It’s procedure to have someone else in the room. You’re not an auror, but your medi-magic training will suffice.” 

Astoria stood slowly and nodded, standing carefully between Hope and Harry. Lucius left, his posture stiff and unforgiving. Harry waited for the door to click close. 

“Ms Hollingsworth. Do you know who I am and why I’m here?” Hope’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head in short, jerky motions. 

“My name is Harry Potter. I am the head of the British Ministry of Magic auror force. I’m here because this was set up as a safe-house for Lord Lucius Malfoy, Misters Marcel and Mathieu Dumont, and Ms Hermione Granger. This morning, one of the safe-house occupants was driven out. Can you please detail your actions beginning at 11:00 this morning?” 

Harry had flipped into Auror-mode, but he was still frustrated with the situation. He probably would have used a softer tone of voice, but it was his Hermione that this witch had messed with, and honestly, when she found out, the witch before him was going to be very lucky if she didn’t end up with “tart” across her forehead in brilliant purple pimples. 

“I…” Hope looked back and forth between Harry and Astoria, who was pinning her with a cool stare that would have rivaled Narcissa’s. “I don’t…” 

She suddenly looked much younger than Harry had initially assumed. She honestly couldn’t be much more than twenty. Her brown eyes were terrified, which just frustrated him further. 

“HOPE VIOLET HOLLINGSWORTH!” A brunette that was vaguely familiar to Harry burst into the room, Draco close on her heels. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?” 

Hope promptly dissolved into tears, bringing her hands up to cover her face, sobbing pathetically. The newcomer threw up a silencing spell around the sobbing girl, and turned to Harry and Astoria, her hands on her hips and a look of exasperation on her face. “Please tell me she hasn’t done anything else.” Harry just blinked at her. 

Draco chuckled. “Potter, have you met Rose Hollingsworth?” The name rang a bell, and Harry thought for a moment before chuckling. 

“You’re the one that decked Finch-Flechley. Hermione talked about that for months.” Rose grinned. 

“I’m also the ICW Magical Education coordinator between Hogwarts and Ilvermorny, and this idiot’s older sister.” She waved at the still-sobbing Hope. 

“As nice as it is to meet you, I need to finish questioning her. You’re welcome to stay, but Malfoy-- Goddamn it,  _ Draco-- _ has to go.” Draco gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, but sauntered out. Rose lifted the silencing charm, and the sound of Hope’s sobs filled the room again. 

“Hope, SHUT UP.” Harry was suddenly very grateful to Draco’s foresight of getting the older Hollingsworth here. Hope’s sobs quieted to sniffles almost immediately. “Now tell him what he needs to know.” 

“I didn’t mean for her to see. I just didn’t want to give up without a fight, either.” Harry could see her cheeks turning pink under her fingers. “I’ve liked him for so long, and then all of the sudden she waltzes in like she owns the place but she’s just using him,” she sniffed, her eyes still tightly closed. Harry was several seconds behind Rose and Astoria in ascertaining what she meant, and Rose and Astoria were already staring at the girl, slack jawed and wide-eyed. 

“Hope, and I ask this in the kindest possible way,” Astoria said softly. “But are you saying you fancy Lucius?” 

“He saved me and now he’s saving  _ her, _ ” she cried through her fingers, and Rose shook her head violently, turning in place to face away from her sister. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, and she bit down on her knuckles to keep her laughter silent. 

“Er… So to clarify, this isn’t because you want her dead, it’s because you want… Him?” Harry’s voice was dangerously close to cracking. She nodded, still refusing to look at any of them. Harry nodded. “Okay. Then it’s not my scope and I’ll leave you ladies to it.” He rushed from the room, face boiling, and nearly ran head-long into Draco, who seemed to be pacing outside the door. 

“Well?” Draco demanded, and Lucius looked up from where he was staring out a window. 

“For the love of Godric, please never give me daughters,” Harry murmured to nobody in particular. “Ms Hollingsworth was jealous of your relationship with Hermione, and as she put it, didn’t want to let you go without a fight.” He noted the looks of shock on both men’s faces. “So I’m going to go get Hermione, tell her this was a huge misunderstanding, and I pray to Merlin and Morgana I will never have to question another woman about her attraction to either of you ever again.” 

He left the two men reeling, and hurried through the hallway, nearly running headlong into Hermione, whose eyes were red and puffy. 

“‘Mione thank god. It was a misunderstanding, I--”

“I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have left--”

“He really didn’t--

“Ron said…” she trailed off, sniffling. 

“Ron said what?” Harry grasped her shoulders with both hands, squeezing tightly enough that Hermione looked up, and he could see the tears clinging to her eyelashes. He quickly realized that he would have better luck getting the story from Ron with her in this state. 

“I need him--” at her whimper, he turned her in place and gave her a gentle shove down the hallway just as Lucius rounded the corner. He was met with Hermione’s squeal, and his face was quickly obscured by chestnut curls. 

“Do I care to know?” Harry jumped at the man’s voice next to him. The potion’s master from Hogwarts stood with his hands in his pockets, watching Hermione and Lucius’ reunion. 

“No. I want to scourgify my brain,” Harry sighed. The potions master chuckled, and Harry shook his head. “Sorry, I’m awful with names. I know we met at Hogwarts.” 

“Mathieu Dumont,” the taller man supplied with a grimace. “I am afraid we did not meet while I was at my best.” 

“You seem to have made a full recovery,” Harry offered, and Mathieu inclined his head. 

“Vivienne set me to rights.” His mouth tightened, and Harry suddenly remembered he was the one fighting with Fairview over the witch. Before he could say anything more, a large silvery bear came to a stop before him, and spoke with Fairview’s voice. 

“The Beaulieu house was attacked. Auror down, two victims, and the suspect is down. Requesting immediate assistance.” 

Dumont gasped, and Harry was already running towards the floo. “Stay here,” he told the other man forcefully, sparing a worried glance in Hermione’s direction, but she was lost to Lucius Malfoy. 

***

“I’m so sorry, I just saw her and all I could think of was losing you--” Her emotions were once more running away from her, and she couldn’t stop the words that tumbled from her trembling lips. 

“Hermione, stop.” Lucius smoothed her hair away from her face, and fresh tears sparkled in her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and pulled her into a crushing embrace. 

“I should have known better. I trust you,” she whimpered into his chest, clinging as closely as she could to him. 

“I know.” She could feel his heartbeat through his deep green robes, and she allowed herself to relax slightly. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

“Oh good! You’re back, and just in time for lunch!” The jarring American accent had Hermione clinging closer until she realized that it wasn’t the blonde, but the brunette Hollingsworth. Grace. No,  _ Rose. _ Lucius sighed, and Hermione got the distinct feeling he was steeling himself for this next interaction. 

“Don’t worry, she’s hiding. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so mortified, and that’s counting the time I caught her making out with Josh Summers at the movie theater the summer we went home.” Hermione drew back enough to see Rose grinning unapologetically, and Lucius sporting the same long-suffering look that he used when she and Draco bickered over breakfast. 

“We’re not discussing this further,” he said flatly, rubbing Hermione’s back comfortingly. Rose rolled her eyes, but turned to Hermione. 

“Sorry my sister is a bitch. But then, you have to deal with Draco on a daily basis, so I’m sure you’re used to it.” 

“Hey!” Draco protested as he came around the corner with Astoria. “I’ll have you know she likes me just fine.” 

“He just thinks that because I helped him with his Runes,” Hermione said sweetly, noting Draco’s scowl and Rose’s widening smile. 

“I like you. Why didn’t we hang out with her in school?” Rose elbowed Draco in the ribs, who feigned injury and rolled his eyes.

“Because I was too busy beating you both out on my NEWTs,” Hermione supplied lightly before Draco had a chance to answer, and Astoria snickered. "And because Draco was a prat back then," Hermione added, almost as an afterthought. 

“I’m starting to think my sister was crushing on the wrong half of this relationship,” Rose laughed, and Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink. Lucius squeezed her hand, and she leaned back into him, relief flooding through her yet again that she had him to support her. 

“I think it’s past time for dinner. Millie, Bigsy.” Lucius directed the two elves to round up the remaining guests for the meal that had been postponed. 

As they took their places around the table, Hermione noted that Mathieu seemed distracted and jumpy. He sat between herself and Rose, who was attempting to make conversation. Finally Hermione leaned in close. 

“Are you okay?” He looked surprised at being addressed, and then slowly shook his head.

“Vivienne was attacked. Mr Potter got the patronus from Fairview. Someone was hurt.” Hermione gaped at him for a long moment before she jumped to her feet.

“Lucius we need to go.” She pulled him from his chair, dragging him down the hallway, leaving their guests to their own devices. He allowed it until they reached the music room. There he stopped, pulling her in and shutting the door. 

“Darling, I need you to take a deep breath.” He held her firmly in place, despite her glances towards the door. “Hermione.” The use of her given name in place of his usual “darling” or “dear” claimed her complete attention. His silver gaze burned, and she had the sudden, crushing realization that he was afraid. 

“You may hear things that you didn’t want to know,” he warned her gently, and she slid her arms around him, her blood turning to ice. 

“I meant what I said. I trust you,” she whispered, her chest aching. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, kissing her forehead gently. 

“Trust and knowledge are two very different things.” He looked mournful, as if he was already grieving what they had. The ache in her chest grew, and for a moment she wondered if she was truly ready for what this would bring. If they went now, would she be waking in his arms tomorrow? Would she forever shun Christmas celebrations not just because she missed her parents, but because it would forever be the day that she lost the man she loved over the past?

Somewhere deep inside, her Gryffindor roared, and she shook her head. “I already know what I need. I know you love deeply, unshakably. I know that you are not the same man you once were. I know that you and I… We’re far from perfect, but we’ve come too far to give up now.”

Lucius cupped her jaw carefully in both hands, brushing his thumb over her cheeks. “I’ve already lost you once today. I can’t do it again.” Hermione’s hands came up automatically to grasp at his wrists. 

“Then don’t let me go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boyyyy! What do you think Ron said? For my readers of Chances and Choices... What do you think Mathieu is going to do?! 
> 
> As always, I love comments, kudos, theories, and reactions!


	32. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those delectable chapters that will make so much more sense if you've read the previous two stories- Dragons and Roses (Draco, Astoria, and Rose) and Choices and Chances (Vivienne, Axios, and Mathieu). 
> 
> If you're just here for Lumione, read on, loves!

When they stepped through the floo to the Ministry, the first surprise was that at some point, Astoria had somehow beaten them there, and was currently treating an auror who looked irritated but no worse for wear. Hermione could feel Lucius’ anger building as he took in the damage that had been done. 

The second was Vivienne standing entirely too close to Axios Fairview for it to be strictly platonic. 

The third was the blood that soaked the front of the young healer’s robes, and the substantial amount that had transferred to the auror’s. 

“Lucius,” Hermione hissed at him from the other side of Harry’s desk. “You’re staring.” With considérable effort, he tore his eyes from the young healer. 

“What happened,” he demanded of Harry, who was scribbling away on a parchment at his desk.

“He sharpened the tip of his wand and used her as a fucking pincushion,” Harry ground out, pressing too hard with his quill. “She’d be dead if it wasn’t for Fairview, and now we can’t find the bastard. He got away, but we have his wand, so we don’t know how.” 

“Accomplice,” Lucius said quickly. “There was always more than one present for missions.” 

“Do they have the manpower for that now?” 

“Almost undoubtedly.” 

“Why leave the wand?”

“If you lost your wand, it was a punishment all its own. I myself didn’t have one for nearly a year. The Dark Lord was misinformed that by using mine, he could get around the twin cores. I believe you are aware that yours destroyed mine. He was quite… amused… at the discomfort that came with being without one. It became a mark of one’s fall from grace, to have one’s wand left behind or snapped.” 

Hermione knew that Lucius was avoiding her gaze, and his discomfort in speaking of his experiences was painfully clear. His exquisite posture was bordering on brittle, and his enunciation was short; clipped. 

She looked helplessly between her best friend and the man she’d given her heart to. Her options were to either allow this to go on, tell Harry not to use the information at his disposal, tell Lucius not to cooperate, or…

Leave. 

The revelation was not a stroke of brilliance by any means, but it was the answer. She stood abruptly, interrupting Harry’s line of questioning about methods of travel. She didn’t miss the surprise in Harry’s eyes or the flash of panic in Lucius’. 

“I”m going to check in with Tori, and go back to the château. Mathieu is probably going crazy, and having Draco and Rose there as his only moral support is probably a poor choice.” She gave them both a tight smile, and stooped to brush a kiss to his cheek, and then lifted his hand to press a lingering kiss to his signet ring. “Come home soon,” she breathed, and left the office before he saw how difficult it was to leave them there. 

***

She found Astoria with several of the aurors that were rotating through the office. The healer looked up in surprise, her eyes flicking back to Harry’s office. She stood without needing to be asked, joining Hermione far enough away from the others to give them relative privacy. 

“I think it makes him uncomfortable, to talk about his past with me there,” Hermione admitted. “I don’t want to make it harder than it already is.” 

“He and Draco don’t talk about it openly, even with each other,” Astoria confirmed. “I’ve asked Draco, but it’s difficult for him. Even more so for Lucius, if I had to guess. He still blames himself for Draco’s Mark. Rose is the only one I know of that’s gotten either of them to talk about it, outside of the ministry.” 

“Does it bother you? That Draco and Rose are still so close?” Hermione watched the other woman wrestle with the question. 

“I want to say no, but they will always have a bond that I just won’t understand,” she finally said softly. “Rose is… She’s got a piece of Draco that makes him who he is. I will never not be grateful to Rose for making Draco understand that his past is not what defines him, and for being a voice of reason to him. Sometimes I wish I could be that for him, but I know that it’s just not how it’s supposed to be for us. I think I’m still coming to terms with that.” 

Astoria gave Hermione a sad smile. “Lucius isn’t Draco, though. You’re the only one that holds that missing piece of him.” Her smile brightened. “I had to hex and drug him to keep him from doing something rash today. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Hermione shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left.” 

“Maybe not,” Astoria conceded. “But you came back. And sooner or later you’ll learn that Malfoys don’t run.” Hermione shared a smile with her, and felt so grateful that Astoria understood so much of what Hermione couldn’t seem to express. 

“I’m going back to the château now,” Hermione gestured towards the fireplace. 

“I’ll go with you. I really only came to check on Viv…” Astoria glanced at the bed with mussed sheets, her face going white. “Mathieu should know she’s okay.” Hermione nodded, and together they approached the fireplace. Before stepping through, she turned and let her gaze linger on Lucius’ profile. 

He was beautiful; there was no way around it. She was absolutely certain she would never tire of watching his silver eyes flick across a page of a book, or running her hands through his silky hair, or feel him guide her across a dance floor. As if he felt her looking, he glanced over at her. His gaze that once felt like blades on her skin, then fire, now felt like the softest caress. 

Her brain was warring with her heart, and she felt as if there was something keeping her from reaching the revelation that would free both. Before she could decide if she wanted to know, the emerald flames sent her spinning. 

Stepping into the brightly lit château after the poor artificial lighting of the ministry, Hermione blinked a few times, noting the anxious faces looking towards herself and Astoria for answers. Even Marcel, who Hermione had yet to see looking anything less than downright jolly was looking ill at ease, his eyes lingering on the form of his son, who was sitting hunched over in an armchair, apart from the others. Draco and Rose took up the sofa across from Marcel, and Hope was mercifully absent. 

Astoria was reaching for Draco even as she looked towards Mathieu, and Hermione felt a twist of sympathy for the potion’s master. 

“We saw Viv, Matt,” Astoria began softly. “She was injured, but she’s okay now.” His head snapped up, and Hermione could clearly see the fear mingling with relief in his eyes. He obviously cared deeply for the witch, but Hermione was fairly certain that Viv had made her choice, and it wasn’t the man that sat across from her. 

“But?” His expression hardened, and Hermione was fairly certain he knew what was coming. 

“Axios,” Draco guessed, his face impassive. Astoria looked guiltily towards Mathieu, and Rose snorted. Draco shot the American a warning glance, and she rolled her eyes right back. 

Marcel had been watching the scene unfold before him, and Hermione took the chance to take him in. He wasn’t as tall as the Malfoy men or his son, a little heavy set and from his relaxed posture, Hermione decided he was comfortable with his lavish surroundings. His joviality that Hermione had come to expect was gone, replaced with a pensive concern directed towards his son. At the mention of the auror, Marcel’s eyes darkened, and then filled with sadness as Mathieu wilted. 

Before anyone could lend their condolences or sympathies, Mathieu was striding out into the hallway, his shoulders squared and his jaw set. Marcel stood slowly, adjusting his robes and nodding cordially to the assembled party before following his son from the room. When the door closed behind the elder Dumont, Rose rounded on Draco.

“It’s not like I was going to tell him!”

“Can you blame me? What was the word you used?” Draco looked rather petulant.

“I believe it was ‘phenomenal’,” Astoria supplied as she slid into Draco’s lap. 

“Well he was! Doesn’t mean that  _ he  _ needed to know that! I do actually understand social niceties, unlike my stupid sister,” Rose grumbled, crossing her arms and glaring towards the east wing of the house, where Hope was housed. 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if she was intruding. Draco must have spotted her discomfort because he inclined his head towards the chair Marcel had vacated. Hermione took it hesitantly as the three began to bicker among themselves again. 

“For what it’s worth, it wouldn't be the first time you’ve brought up your sexual dalliances in polite company,” Draco scoffed, his arms tightening around Astoria’s waist.

“Okay you hardly count as  _ polite company,  _ and my ‘sexual dalliances’ extend to you and two others, so chill out.”

“One of which happens to be the man that just stole Matt’s witch away from him!” Draco frowned at Rose’s responsive eye roll, and Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. Astoria caught her shock, and gave a tiny shrug as if to say “this is normal.”

“He did look great from all angles,” Rose said after a few moments, her eyes falling to Hermione, who promptly blushed scarlet. She laughed uproariously, throwing her head back and pressing her hands to her stomach. “This is too fun. We should have invited her years ago!” 

Draco glared at Rose, and Astoria dropped her face into one hand, shaking her head. 

“How about a movie?” Hermione asked, desperate for something to occupy their attention, and she’d been hoping for a chance to use the home theater that Lucius had pointed out the previous afternoon. Unlike the manor or Hogwarts, he explained, the château was not as magically polluted and muggle technology seemed to function without the same problems that rendered them useless in long-standing (read centuries of magically imbued) residences. Apparently Draco was especially fond of movies, and had the château outfitted after Narcissa had died. 

“Oh Christmas movies are my favorite!” Rose grinned. 

“We’re starting with  _ Die Hard _ ,” Draco said decisively, urging Astoria off his lap.

“ _ Die Hard _ is not a Christmas movie,” Hermione argued, thankful to be back in her depth with her old schoolmate. 

“Ha! I told you!” Astoria looked smug.

“It is too!” Rose and Draco high-fived, while Hermione and Astoria shared a look. 

They continued arguing down the hall, and Draco started the movie. The home theatre had a large screen and three rows of stadium seating. Draco and Astoria took two seats in the front row, with Rose stretched out on the floor at their feet. Hermione opted for the opposite corner, nearest the door. 

Halfway through, Rose started snickering. 

“I think Hans Gruber sounds sexier than Snape did.”

Draco and Astoria burst out laughing, and Hermione nearly choked on the popcorn Bigsy had brought them. Eyes watering, Hermione shook her head and chuckled. Rose actually was quite funny once you got used to her. 

After the movie finished, the girls insisted on  _ White Christmas,  _ and Draco disappeared for a handful of minutes, returning with Mathieu in tow. 

“I refuse to be the only man subjected to this,” he said bluntly, and Mathieu shook his head, but took the bowl of popcorn Hermione offered and settled into one of the recliners in the second row near the middle without complaint. 

“Look Rosie, it's you!” Draco laughed when the Haynes sisters sung, “ Never had to have a chaperone, no sir, I'm there to keep my eye on her!”

Rose snickered. “Pause it! This is happening!” She scurried from the room, and Mathieu looked to Hermione for explanation, who shrugged. 

Rose came back with a protesting Hope, who blushed furiously when she saw the scene frozen on the screen. 

“No way in hell! We aren’t children anymore!” 

“Do it or I’ll tell them all about Marcus Sanders and the--” 

“Rose shut up!” 

“So you’ll do it?” Rose grinned widely, and at Hope’s resigned nod, she conjured two large feathered fans and handed one to her sister. “Draco press play!” 

Draco, Astoria, Mathieu, and Hermione leaned forward, intrigued at the sisters’ display. As the music started again, they danced right alongside the Haynes sisters, Rose in Betty’s place with Hope in Judy’s. Draco was in stitches by the end of the number, but Astoria and Mathieu were looking on in awe. Hermione was smiling, but she was still angry at Hope, and by the guilty look on her face, she knew it.

“That was brilliant!” Draco was wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I didn’t know you could do that!” 

Rose laughed, vanishing the fans and conjuring a bright yellow ribbon as she collapsed back onto the floor at Draco’s feet, tying her hair back. 

“Hope can sing every song in the movie, but I’d make your ears bleed if I tried.” 

“Really? Mathieu leaned forward, and Hope went pink.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy now.” Rose rolled her eyes at her sister, and Hope huffed, but stood a bit straighter and started to sing. 

“Love, you didn’t do right by me. You planned a romance that just hadn’t a chance, and I’m through…” She winced and looked anywhere at Hermione, but kept going. Hermione recognized the song from later in the movie, and found herself softening towards the other woman. When she finished, Hermione clapped with the others, and even offered a tentative smile. Hope flushed a deeper pink, looking away quickly. 

“Well damn. Little Miss Sunshine has pipes,” Draco crowed, and Hope shook her head, but smiled at the praise. 

“Now we must finish the movie,” Mathieu said firmly, gesturing for Hope to take the recliner next to his. Everyone quickly agreed, and Draco pressed play once more. They had just gotten to Vermont when the door to the theater room opened and shut again quickly. Hermione, sitting in the chair closest to the door, turned to see Lucius pausing just inside to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. 

He found her immediately, and when she stood, he took her place in the chair but pulled her back so she was in his lap. With his arms firmly around her, she relaxed into his chest. 

“Everything okay?” Her question was barely a breath in his ear, but he nodded, kissing her cheek gently. 

“Everything is fine, darling.” She shifted, turning so she could lay her cheek against his shoulder. She giggled at an on-screen quip about being a landlord, and he tightened his hold on her slightly when she shivered slightly. He summoned a blanket from the closet in the back, wrapping it firmly around her, and she had to fight back the tears the welled in her eyes. Even harder to fight back were the words that hovered on the tip of her tongue. 

The movie ended, but Hermione didn’t move from her place against Lucius’ chest. She watched as Draco and Mathieu approached the wall full of DVDs, and the girls shouted out suggestions. Hope suggested  _ A Wonderful Life,  _ and Astoria protested. 

“That one makes me cry. What about  _ The Grinch?” _

“Nah. Maybe  _ Home Alone?”  _

“I am quite fond of  _ The Polar Express.” _

_ “Home Alone _ or  _ A Christmas Story!” _

“Is that the one with with the leg?”

“Of course that’s what you remember, Draco.” 

Hermione giggled as they continued to bicker, and Lucius swept his hand over her back. The urge to say the words overwhelmed her again, and she bit down on her lip, afraid of losing the magic of the moment. She found his hand against her thigh and held it tightly, hoping he understood what she was feeling. 

This Christmas Eve had been a nightmare, but it was everything she wanted and more to have him here like this. He seemed to understand, because he pressed a soft kiss to her crown and let out a deep breath. They stayed that way until it got to be late. 

Rose was asleep on the floor, and Draco was stroking a sleepy Astoria’s hair as the credits to  _ Elf  _ rolled across the screen. Hermione sat up hesitantly to find Hope asleep against Mathieu’s shoulder and Mathieu staring pensively into empty space. Hermione and Lucius slipped away, content to leave the others to their own devices. Partway down the hall, Hermione caught sight of Marcel looking forlornly out a large window, his back to them.

“Go on to bed, darling. I’ll be in shortly.” Lucius gave her a gentle nudge as he approached his cousin. She watched as he laid a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder, speaking to him quietly. Hermione left them, changing quickly and slipping into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow. 

***

“Happy Christmas!” The chorus of holiday greetings as they moved through the Burrow seemed to get louder as they went, and Hermione couldn’t help the grin on her face. Harry and Ginny were wrangling Peter and Victoire, while Louis was already firmly planted in Lucius’ free arm, and Freddy was perched on Hermione’s opposite hip. Charlie jumped up from where he was laying on the floor with Dominique, delight evident in his features.

He gave Hermione a bear hug and set her back on her feet before turning to Lucius. “I hear you’re less of a prat than my brother,” he said with a grin, offering his hand. 

Lucius shook it firmly, and George cut in from the doorway, “Less of a prat than Perce for sure. Jury’s still out on Ron.” 

Ron and Percy both scowled at George as they came in from the porch, Percy’s daughter Anna swinging between them. She let go of her father and uncle at the sight of Lucius, toddling over and grasping at thin air in an attempt to get him to hold her. He pulled her up into his arms, and she promptly buried her face in his neck. 

Charlie looked dumbstruck. “They told me you were alright, they didn’t tell me you were the bloody baby whisperer.” Lucius just smirked.

“Language!” came the shouts from Angelina, Molly, and Hermione. Charlie threw his hands up in defeat, opting to throw Dominique over his shoulder and snag Peter from Harry. Harry relinquished the child, and gave Hermione a hug, who was then passed off to Arthur. 

“Alright then?” He looked between Hermione and Lucius, and Hermione nodded. 

“We’ll talk later,” she promised, and was promptly bombarded on two sides by redheads. Ron and George trapped her between themselves, crushing her. 

“Say sis, how mad would you be if we let some of those mistletoe sprigs loose?” George had a mischievous glint in his eye, and Hermione laughed. 

“I’ve got a feeling if I got trapped it wouldn’t be for long, so by all means,” she grinned back, and George roared with laughter. 

“Great because this oaf dropped a whole box,” he laughed, ribbing Ron. “But if he gets stuck…”

“Then it will be such a shame we’ll have to leave him there,” Lucius cut in smoothly. Ron pulled a face. 

“Lav will be here any minute, dickhead,” he shot at his still-grinning brother. Hermione giggled, leaning into Lucius. He took it a step further, kissing her soundly on the mouth, the three children between them protesting as they were squished. 

“Fucking Merlin and Morgana,” came a shocked voice from the door from the dining room. 

They looked up to see the newcomer standing wide-eyed in the doorway, just as a chorus of shouts came from the assembled mothers for her language. 

“Hello, Andi.” Lucius’ flashing silver eyes met the dark eyes of his sister-in-law. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Rollercoaster much?! Tell me what you loved, what you hated, and what you're dying to know. I love hearing from you! 
> 
> XOXO, 
> 
> Ruby


	33. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which expectations must be adjusted, mistletoe is put to good use, Hermione gets frustrated, and Draco gets flustered.

“Lucius.” Andromeda’s terse greeting in the suddenly quiet room made Lucius want to cringe. He hadn’t seen Cissa’s sister since her funeral, and he feared that kissing another witch was not the best way to begin their reacquaintance. 

“HARRY!” A boy about 8 with bright teal hair streaked through the room, drawing Andromeda’s attention and breaking the tension. 

“Hi Teddy,” Harry said a bit too loudly, scooping up his godson and turning to face his wife, away from where Lucius and Hermione stood. He took several slow, deep breaths, waiting for the tirade to come. 

Against all expectations, Andromeda cracked a small smile. He could practically feel the relief radiating from Hermione. 

“Ron! Where’s Lavender?” She squeaked, obviously looking for an escape. Lucius let her go, thinking this discussion would be best in private. He handed Anna off to a very confused looking Ginny Potter, and indicated the porch with an inclination of his head. Andromeda went quickly, and Lucius followed after pulling a blanket from the sofa to wrap around the sleeping infant in his arms.

Andromeda was casting a warming charm over the porch as he pulled the door closed behind him, and she sat heavily in one of the mismatched rocking chairs. 

He sat in the same one he had while speaking to Hermione, though that felt more like a lifetime than a singular week ago now. The silence stretched out as much as it had then.

“I wish Cissy could see this,” she finally said, erupting into giggles. Lucius found himself chuckling along with her. “She always said you should be surrounded by children but I’d bet my wand even she wouldn’t have expected you to be roped into the Weasley clan.” She laughed harder, doubling over. His chuckles morphed into full laughs, and he shook his head. 

“Cissa would have insisted she’d known out of spite,” he told her, shifting the child so the blanket was wrapped more firmly around him. 

“That she would have,” Andromeda agreed, her voice growing sad. “She’d be happy to know that you found someone, though. She was so worried you wouldn’t allow it.” 

Lucius swallowed hard, his throat constricting. “She knew I would come around eventually. She had her damn house elf make sure of that,” he said dryly. “I’m surprised at you though, Andi. Twenty years ago you would have thrown a couple hexes along with the expletives.” 

“We all go soft eventually,” she mused. “But you hurt that girl, and I’ll make you wish hexes were all you were getting. Cissy would back me on that, you know she would.” 

“I know, and I won’t. She’s special, Andi.”

“Anyone that could face down Bella and come out the other side is, Lucius. Yourself included.” Andromeda cocked her head, watching him carefully as he stared out over the snow-covered landscape. “You haven’t told her about Bella.” It wasn’t a question, and he tried not to show his discomfort.

“No, I have not.” 

“You should.” She said it as if she was telling him to buy a new book or have a second crumpet at tea, not share the darkest parts of his history. But she was right. 

“I--”

“Let me tell you something about this girl, Lucius. She knew of Remus’ condition when she was thirteen, and didn’t tell a soul. At sixteen, she faced off against you, while you were at your worst.” He cringed, and she continued without missing a beat. “At eighteen she helped to bring down the Dark Lord. At twenty, she set the Ministry aflame. By twenty-four, she changed how wizarding education works and managed to pass a bill for werewolf rights despite the world telling her it wasn’t possible. This girl is fearless. She won’t back down, she won’t run. She loves you, Lucius, despite your past. She won’t hold it against you any more than she held Remus’ against him.”

“Cissa did.”

“She’s not Cissy. You wouldn’t have given her a chance if she was anything like her.” 

“Nobody could have lived up to her, Andi.” 

“I know. You’re doing better than I am, truth be told. I keep telling myself that Ted would want me to find someone, but I just…” She trailed off, shaking her head. Lucius understood, and kept quiet. They sat together for a time, until Andromeda stood, and opened her arms. Lucius accepted the gentle embrace, and sat back down as his sister-in-law returned to the house.

***

Hermione watched the two from the window, noticing the pair laughing together, evident by Lucius’ shaking shoulders and Andromeda doubling over. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected the hug Andromeda initiated, either, but she found she felt more relief than anything at the gesture. She turned away as the witch reentered the house so it appeared that she’d been examining the bookcase, not watching the exchange. 

“I saw Andromeda come back in. I take it to mean they’re all still in one piece?” Ron leaned casually against the bookshelf she was staring at. Hermione nodded distractedly, wishing she had something to keep her hands busy.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he said softly, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I know. I just… I can’t…”

“Get out of your head,” he finished for her. “I know.” His boyish smile took her right back to their school days, and the day before flashed through her mind again.

_ “‘Mione? Can I come in?” Ron’s voice came through the door shortly after Ginny and Arthur left her alone at her request. She wiped at her face, though her tears hadn’t slowed.  _

_ “Fine,” she croaked, sitting upright on the bed. He pushed the door open, and hesitated before closing the door behind him. “Are you here to tell you “I told you so?” because it's been on a loop for the last hour. You don’t have to bother.”  _

_ Ron shook his head as he sat on the bed next to her. “You deserved better, ‘Mione.” She was ready to snap at him, but he pressed on. “Better than me. There are a lot of things I’m not proud of, but hurting you tops the list. I don’t think I realized how bad I fucked up until last week, and you were right. I need to change. I’ve been such an arse. But seeing you with him made me rethink everything.  _

_ “He couldn’t have been comfortable, coming here after everything he’s done, but he did it for you. He stuck his neck out with the minister for you. Harry told me how he refused to leave you. But I saw how he looked at you, ‘Mione. You were reading  _ Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump  _ to the kids, and he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. You deserve that. I don’t know what happened today, but I do know that he is everything to you that I should have been.” _

_ “He was kissing someone else, Ron.” Her tears were falling thicker and faster, and hearing Ron say that Lucius loved her threatened to tear her open.  _

_ “What did he say?” He looked up at her with crystal blue eyes, and she looked away, shaking her head. “If you didn’t let him explain, how do you know that you’re not twisting it to fit your expectations? You’re expecting him to leave you or hurt you because that’s what I did.” His face crumpled, but it was clear he’d been thinking about his actions, and was showing an impressive amount of self-awareness. “You have to let him explain himself. If he does, and you still don’t believe him, come back and I can hate him in peace.” He cracked a grin, and she threw herself into his arms. _

_ “Merlin, why do you have to be such a prat?” _

_ “It makes everyone else look good in comparison,” he joked. Hermione shook her head. “You should go back.” _

She threw her arms around him again, nearly knocking him off balance. He groaned. 

“You really should give a bloke some warning,” he laughed, and she blushed, releasing him. “I’m glad you worked things out, though. Really.” He grinned conspiratorially, leaning in close. “I didn’t want to say anything til you worked it all out, but I’m proposing to Lav tonight.” 

Hermione squealed and threw herself at him again, her eyes filling with tears. She’d been fearing this for months, but now all she felt was happiness for one of her best friends. She was very nearly sobbing against his shoulder when Lucius came back in, the baby in his arms cooing happily. He looked alarmed at the tears trickling down her cheeks, but she gave him a reassuring smile, and left Ron in favor of tucking herself into his side. 

He kissed the top of her head quickly, earning him a shocked look from Lavender, who had just passed through the floo. She froze in the doorway until Ron cleared his throat. “Lav, baby. You remember Lucius Malfoy.” Lavender shifted her gaze to Ron, giving him a clear as day “What-the-hell-of-course-I-know-who-he-is” look, followed swiftly by a “what-the-hell-is-he-doing-here-kissing-Hermione” look. 

“Lavender, how are you?” Hermione asked brightly, clinging closer to Lucius. Lavender turned back to Hermione, blinking rapidly as if she was trying to decide if she was hallucinating or not. 

“Hello, Ms Brown,” Lucius added, amusement playing at the corners of his lips. 

“Lucius do you still have--” Bill stopped short, just behind Lavender. “Lavender?” Bill’s inquiry seemed to snap her out of her shock, and she shuffled aside, letting Bill through and slipping into Ron’s arms. “Sorry, mate. It’s time for his feeding, but Fleur is being pinned by Dominique.” Lucius passed the baby off, and took the opportunity to pull Hermione more firmly against him. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying the shock and awe?” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. He smirked, leaning down so his lips were against her ear.

“Because I am,” he breathed, eliciting an eruption of goosebumps down her spine and across her limbs. She laughed, and caught Lavender looking at her like she’d sprouted tentacles. 

“I’d say it gets less weird,” Ron murmured, “but I’m still waiting for that.” 

“You’re just mad he beat you at chess last week,” Hermione goaded, and Ron grinned. 

“Rematch later?” 

If Lucius was surprised at the invitation, he didn’t show it. He just nodded with a ghost of a smirk and greeted Audrey and Angelina as they wandered in from the kitchen. 

A while later they were gathered around the table again, this time Hermione and Lucius near the center of the table, with Ron on Hermione’s other side, Bill on Lucius’ right, and Harry, Ginny, and Andromeda across the table. Dinner was lighthearted and easy, and Molly only cried twice. Once over Fred, and again over Remus and Nymphadora. Hermione slid a hand into her lap, squeezing Lucius’ thigh gently. He’d responded in kind, and thankfully the only ones to notice were Harry and Andromeda. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent exchanging gifts, playing a myriad of games, and socializing aimlessly. With the exception of Lavender, they each accepted Lucius much more readily this time around, and he relaxed fractionally. Several times Hermione caught him watching her appreciatively from across the room, and she melted into a smile that lit her whole face. 

The enchanted mistletoe seemed to pop up at extremely inopportune moments, however. One caught Ginny in the pantry, another trapped Percy in the doorway to the loo, and Arthur got stuck in the back corner of the dining room. With enough yelling, their spouses were located and delivered to free them. It was all in good fun until Andromeda and Hermione were simultaneously caught in the middle of the family room. 

All eyes fell to Lucius, who quickly released Hermione, but shook his head firmly at Andromeda. She responded with a vehement sigh of relief that had everyone laughing. A quick glance around the room later, and Charlie was standing, looking expectant. 

“How ‘bout it ‘Dromeda?” His boyish smile echoed Ron’s and she eyed him warily. 

“Well… alright then.” She leaned in to give him a chaste peck, but he whipped her around into a deep dip and kissed her soundly, his brothers cheering. When he let her up for air, Andromeda was bright pink and Charlie’s self satisfied grin told all. 

Lucius leaned down and whispered into Hermione’s ear, “the Black women take no hostages. He’s a goner.” Andromeda shot them a scathing glance at Hermione’s giggle, but it quickly faded into a tolerant smile. 

Lucius and Hermione were the first to leave, citing Draco and Astoria returning from her family’s for dinner. They floo’d first to the manor, where Lucius caught her as she stepped out, kissing her soundly. 

“Since we got interrupted this morning,” he murmured against her lips, his hands locking around her waist. He was correct, they had indeed been interrupted by Draco pounding on the door, hollering that it was time for gifts and mimosas. 

Hermione had truthfully just been grateful that he hadn’t barged in to find the shirt she was wearing unbuttoned to her navel and Lucius’ hands cupping her bare breasts, while she had been trying and failing to get her fingers to work long enough to unbutton the matching shirt Lucius wore. Lucius had a very talented, very distracting tongue, as it turned out, and she somehow forgot to use her fingers. 

Hermione returned the kiss happily, pulling the ribbon that held his hair neatly at the nape of his neck away and let it fall to the floor, burying her hands in the silk strands. His hands slid under her robes, and tugged at the blouse that she had tucked into her skirt. She shuddered when his hands found the bare skin of her torso, and he renewed the assault on her lips with vigor. 

_ Happy Christmas to me,  _ she thought dimly, as her fingers worked at the stiff buttons of his shirt. She was working on the fourth one down when the floo roared to life and Harry stepped through. 

“What are--’ He cut himself off with a yelp, turning away from the couple. 

Hermione sighed, dropping her forehead against the bare sliver of skin left by his open shirt. His hands withdrew, tugging her blouse down again. 

“What do you want, Harry?” She turned to face her friend with her arms crossed as Lucius deftly rebuttoned his shirt. 

“I didn’t get the alert that you’d made it to the château,” Harry said defensively, his nose crinkling in distaste. Hermione sighed. She should have expected as much. 

“Lucius, go ahead. I’ll be right there.” He arched a neatly groomed eyebrow, but went ahead without complaint. Once he was gone, she let her frustration boil over. “What the hell, Harry!” 

“Oh come on, like I really would have interrupted  _ that _ on purpose,” he shot back at her. “Could you really not wait til you were back?” 

“Under the circumstances, no! Between me getting sick, you and Draco, that's the farthest we’ve gotten! Excuse me for wanting to take advantage of the first five bloody minutes we’ve gotten alone in weeks!” Harry’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and she glared at him. 

“Too much information, ‘Mione,’ he said weakly. 

“You’re the one that barged in!” 

“I just wanted to make sure someone hadn’t captured you!” She knew his indignance was a defense mechanism against his embarrassment, but she was frustrated and irritated. She had one of the sexiest wizards she’d ever met literally at her fingertips, even sleeping in her bed, and they’d been cockblocked at every opportunity. She was going to develop a complex if it kept up like this. 

She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, taking a slow deep breath. “Okay. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Happy Christmas.” With that, she stepped back through the floo to the château. 

She was met on the other side with a mildly amused Lucius, and Draco at his elbow asking if they wanted to join in for a round of pictionary. Rose was on Lucius’ other side, debating that charades was far superior. She was clearly going to need to adjust her expectations if she thought her sexual frustration was going to be relieved anytime soon. 

That night she was again too tired to even stay awake long enough for Lucius to join her, though she did have enough presence of mind to lock an arm firmly around his waist, sighing in relief at his hand on her back. When she woke the next morning, he was already gone, the bed cool where he had slept. She groaned, flopping back into the mountains of soft, downy pillows. 

She showered and dressed rather slowly, taking her sweet time, enjoying the quiet while she could. She knew as soon as she emerged, Draco and Rose would make it their mission to annoy her, and that evening they were due at the Fairview’s for dinner. Anthony had told Lucius that Axios would be home, and was bringing Viv with him. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt, thinking that Mathieu didn’t know she was going to be spending the evening with them. 

“Good morning, darling,” Lucius crooned when she joined them at the breakfast table. 

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” She took her place to his left, pointedly ignoring Rose’s snicker and Draco’s scowl. 

“Well enough. What time should we be expecting Mr Potter?” 

“I think around two, but I’m halfway considering sending him a patronus and telling him not to bother,” she huffed, stabbing at a sausage in annoyance. 

“Did the kitty cat wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Draco smirked at her glare.

“Are you sure you want to know what happens in my bed, Draco?” Hermione asked coolly, taking a sip of coffee. 

Draco choked on his croissant, and Rose howled with laughter. Astoria and Mathieu managed to cover their snickers, and Lucius chuckled from behind  _ The Daily Prophet. _

“It’s so refreshing to have a house full of young people,” Marcel announced as he entered, and took his seat beside Astoria. “Laughing at breakfast. Lovely, just lovely.” 

“Yes, isn’t it?” Lucius flicked the paper closed, setting it aside. A smile played at his lips and Draco sank down in his chair, refusing to look at Lucius or Hermione. Rose, who was seated next to Mathieu and across from Marcel smiled brightly. 

“It’s hard not to laugh with Draco around,” she teased, and Draco shot her a contemptuous look. 

“Hermione certainly helps,” Astoria shared a conspiratorial look with her, her approval clear. “She’s been a fantastic addition to the family, don’t you think, dear?” By the jerk that came from Draco, Hermione would have wagered that Astoria had aimed a solid kick at his shin. 

Draco mumbled incoherently, and Lucius stifled a laugh at his son’s expense but rubbing his mouth thoughtfully. From her other side, Mathieu was shaking with silent laughter. 

“But where is Hope? I’ve scarcely seen the dear girl,” Marcel peered around the table as if he’d simply missed her. Mathieu sobered immediately, though Rose snorted. 

“I expect she’s moping,” Rose said lightly. 

“Little Miss Sunshine? Moping? Never,” Draco’s sarcasm was practically dripping onto the highly polished table.

“She did say she was rather homesick. I’ll have to find her and see if I can’t find something to distract her with,” he mused. They all seemed content to allow him to believe that it was her homesickness that had her hiding, and Mathieu deftly steered the conversation to the upcoming ball. 

Hermione got distracted at some point, her eyes on Lucius’ lips. It wasn’t until they quirked into a smile, accompanied by an arched eyebrow that she was pulled out of her thoughts of what they could do to her. 

“I’m sorry, what?” She looked around the table to see Astoria and Rose giggling, and Draco and Mathieu looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

Marcel smiled graciously, and asked, “Are you looking forward to the ball? Lucius mentioned you have taken the place of hostess.” 

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Astoria grinned. Draco scowled at her, and she rolled her eyes. “If you wanted the one that wanted to play hostess, you should have proposed to Daphne.” Draco looked vaguely nauseated at the thought, and Hermione had to admit she doubted that Astoria’s older sister wouldn’t have been anywhere near as welcoming to her as Astoria had been. 

“I am looking forward to it, actually,” Hermione said cautiously. “Though I’d do anything for Lucius.” She turned a soft smile back to him, and he captured her hand in his, bringing it up to kiss it lightly.” 

“You two are so cute it’s gross,” Rose said, amusement clear in her brown eyes. 

“Draco, were you still interested in the potions I’m working on?” Mathieu came to Draco’s rescue and the two quickly excused themselves. 

Rose rolled her eyes and addressed Lucius with a shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know what he expects.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a light hearted one as we head into some heavy hitting chapters! 
> 
> Let me know what you think, loves!
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> Ruby


	34. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets sexual. Don't say you weren't warned.

December 26, 2006

The emerald flames whisked Hermione away from him, first to the Manor and then onto the Fairview’s home. Lucius waited a moment before following, attempting to get himself under control. Since coming to the château, Hermione had been getting bolder and more insistent with the physical aspects of their relationship. While he wanted nothing more than to take her to his bed and worship her like the goddess she was, he was also increasingly nervous for her to find his flaws. 

Her declaration that she would do anything for him at the breakfast table that morning certainly hadn’t helped in calming the raging need for her, but it had also forcefully reminded him of the secrets he still harbored. 

_ “You haven’t told her about Bella. You should.”  _

Andromeda’s words ate at him, and he swore the ache in his hip had been more noticeable since then. He’d known all along that he would have to tell her what had happened all those years ago, but he hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be. Cissa had been there and she’d never seen him the same again. How would Hermione react? 

He pushed the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind as he stepped into the entryway that was nearly as familiar as his own now. Anthony and Cassia had welcomed him with open arms after Narcissa had died, and he’d long ago lost count of the afternoons spent here with them. They were his dearest friends, and he was relieved that Hermione seemed to enjoy their company almost as much as he did. 

“Hermione?” Axois’ voice floated in from the other room. “I thought you said you were just inviting Lucius and his new—“ 

Lucius smirked as he stepped around the corner behind Hermione. Hermione looked up at him as he slid an arm firmly around her waist and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

“...oh.” Axios shook his head sharply, and slipped an arm around the diminutive witch at his side. Her panic was written clearly across her face, and Lucius tried not to show his own discomfort. “I thought  _ The Prophet  _ was full of it again.” Axios looked embarrassed as he shook Lucius’ hand, eliciting a chuckle from his father. 

“Lucius, you know Axios,” Anthony gestured to the pair across the hall, ”but this is his sweetheart, Vivienne Beaulieu. Vivienne, this is Lucius.” Lucius took in the redheaded witch, noting that her hair was nothing like the flaming red of the Weasleys. It was a deep auburn, striking against skin even more pale than even his own. Her lips were painted blood red, and her eye makeup reminded him of old photographs of his mother, all old-school class, with lush, black eyelashes and winged eyeliner over doe eyes. She was quite pretty, and Lucius immediately saw why Axios and Mathieu were besotted. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s having far too much fun with the shock value.” Hermione pressed back into Lucius’ side slightly, and Lucius watched the other girl do the same into Axios’ side. 

“Lord Malfoy.” She nodded politely, but still looked faintly ill. 

“Please call me Lucius. We’re all friends here.” He attempted a smile, and she nodded again. She had quite obviously been caught off guard by Lucius’ appearance. They must not have told her, which meant they either thought she wouldn’t have come if they had, or they’d once again forgotten his past misdeeds. Based on her pallor, Lucius was willing to bet it was the former. 

Once seated, the girl continued to watch him carefully, and her eyes narrowed dangerously at Hermione’s hand resting lightly on his thigh, until Hermione drew her attention away. Lucius hadn’t been listening to what the witches were saying, but he caught the vague gesture towards her throat. He surreptitiously looked to her neck, but her thick auburn hair hung in heavy waves over her shoulders, obscuring whatever mark had been left. Then the three women stood, drawing the men’s full attention. They disappeared down the hall, and Anthony leaned closer.

“Someone got through my wards, Lucius.” 

“It wasn’t just anyone, Dad. It was that bastard Ben Wilson.” Axios’ voice was dark with sheer hatred, and Lucius’ eyes snapped up. 

“Are you sure?” Lucius looked sharply to the younger man, a fire burning in his belly at the thought of someone encroaching on this space. 

“I watched him stab Livvy with his fucking wand the day before yesterday, Lucius. It was him.” Axios’ dark eyes, so much like his mother’s, were filled with anger and pain. Lucius knew the feeling all too well, of watching someone hurting the woman he loved and being powerless to stop it. Anthony looked repulsed, and Lucius shook his head slowly. 

“We’ve been over your wards a hundred times or more. There is no way--”

“Then you missed something,” Axios hissed.

“Axios,” Anthony cautioned his son, who sat back, looking incensed. 

“I’m not going let him get anywhere near her again, Dad. She’s  _ mine.” _ He said it with such conviction, Lucius quickly came to the conclusion that Mathieu Dumont had no chance against this wizard, and even if he did, it very well may end in a fight to the death, and he’d wager a great deal that Axios would emerge victorious. 

Before Lucius or Anthony could calm him, Cassia returned with a stack of fabric swatches, and Axios slid closer to his mother. The other two witches returned a few minutes later, and Vivienne looked significantly more relaxed after her moment away with Hermione. Lucius immediately noticed that she’d pulled her hair back from her face, her neck left bare. He immediately thought of the charm Hermione used to cover her own scars, and silently thanked her for her forethought and kindness to the young healer. She obviously needed a friend and ally after the ordeal she’d been subjected to. 

She started conversing with Anthony in French, and Lucius jumped in with a friendly jab at Anthony, earning a laugh from the girl. He enjoyed the light banter until she narrowed her eyes again and cut through him like a hot knife through butter. 

“Are you going to hide it from her too?” Her eyes lingered at his left hip before flicking to Hermione’s face, though Hermione was still speaking animatedly with Cassia. 

She knew.

Anger ripped through him like fiendfyre, but he tamped down, recognizing the witch was ready to flee. 

“She’s got you there, Lucius,” Anthony said pointedly, and Lucius let go of the anger boiling though him, instead awarding her with a sardonic smile. Astoria must have mentioned it. 

“I know pain when I see it,” she snapped, still in French. “All Astoria has ever said about you was in regards to your devotion to your son and your wife.” Hermione glanced between them, and he tried not to react. 

“Check mate, Lucius,” Anthony chuckled, obviously enjoying seeing Lucius set to rights by his son’s love interest. 

Vivienne withdrew as Axios came back to the conversation in English, and it wasn’t until they were at the dinner table that her fire reignited, and did so with a  _ bang.  _ Literally. 

She slammed one hand down on the table, glaring fiercely at Axios. Her cheeks that bloomed with color at the slightest provocation were red, and her voice was surprisingly level as she berated the man beside her for not noticing the plight of the muggle-born students at Hogwarts. Hermione was watching in rapture, and Lucius realized that everything the girl was saying what he had been looking for, what he needed for Rose’s Law. 

“By some miracle I had you and Hazel. Halley and Barney have each other and nobody else! How are they supposed to know that ‘pureblood’ doesn’t mean ‘bigoted’ if we keep sweeping it under the rug?” Her voice was breaking, and Lucius’ stomach twisted at the implication; even with magical healing, she was still recovering from what had been done to her. 

He knew all too well the disappointment that came with the failure of magic to make one whole again. He wished he could tell her he knew how she felt, but it was obvious it wouldn’t be accepted well. She’d neatly sidestepped every verbal spar, no matter how innocent, since dinner started. She really was quite impressive; Axios would never be bored. 

Hermione was asking for records, while Lucius watched Vivienne carefully, coming to the conclusion that she was what he needed. Now… Just how to get her?

***

Hermione smiled brightly as Cassia rejoined them in the sitting room after seeing Axios and Viv back off to Hogwarts. 

“So did she pass the test?” She looked back and forth between Anthony and Cassia, who both inclined their heads with smiles. 

“I didn’t think she could live up to his opinion of her, but it would seem she has met and surpassed expectations,” Cassia confided. 

“She is quite the little firecracker,” Anthony acknowledged. “She is nothing that I expected but everything I could have hoped for him. Quite extraordinary, really.” 

“Quite the little lioness,” Lucius smirked. 

“Oh no, she’s one of us,” Anthony corrected proudly. Cassia rolled her eyes. She had attended Beauxbatons, and as they didn’t have houses, she thought the house rivalries were silly. 

“Really?” Lucius’ eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. He let them lower slowly. “She wears her scars like a Gryffindor.” Anthony arched an eyebrow, but didn’t mention their tête-à-tête. 

***

They stayed a short while longer before they said their goodbyes, but only after Lucius promised to give shelter to Anthony while Cassia was in the final sprint before the ball. They stepped through the floo back to the château, finding their path to Lucius’ study blissfully empty. Hermione sighed in relief not to have to face Mathieu, and was quite content without the teasing from Rose and Draco. 

“Okay, what was all that about?” Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Lucius. 

“What was what all about darling?” Lucius asked silkily from where he stood at the sideboard, pouring them both glasses of brandy. 

“You talked to the poor girl in French for five minutes and then proceeded to badger her all through dinner!” Hermione left out the bit that she’d heard them talking about her and Narcissa. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know what had been said. 

“I didn’t  _ badger  _ her, my dear. And she was perfectly capable of handling me. She proved that very quickly.”

“Do I want to know?” Hermione asked exasperatedly, taking the glass he offered her. 

He sat in his customary spot on the sofa, but she didn’t join him. She stood closer to the fire so her silhouette was backlit, her face hidden in shadows. 

“I don’t know that you want to, but you probably should, my dear.” He sounded resigned, and Hermione’s head snapped up. 

“What does that mean?” Her voice was sharper now, her anxiety rising. He sighed. 

“It means that Miss Beaulieu is far too observant and perceptive for her own good. She called me out, and both she and Andi are correct. I shouldn’t be keeping this from you.”

“Keeping what from me?” Hermione stood stock-still, trying to keep her panic down. 

“Come here, darling. I can’t see you like that.” He held his hand out, and she hesitated, worst case scenarios chasing themselves around her mind. “Hermione, my love. Please?” 

Lucius rarely used the word outside of softening his orders, and Hermione’s anxiety spiked again. She moved forward slowly, taking his hand and seating herself at his side. She kept her eyes trained on his face, hoping he would give something away to better prepare her for whatever was to come next. 

He set his drink aside, and turned to her, his eyes carefully guarded. 

“Lucius you’re scaring me.” Hermione set her own glass aside, afraid it would spill if her hands shook any more. 

“I’ve said before you deserve someone younger, less damaged… and I mean that quite literally.” He took her hands in his. “I had a selfish reason for wanting to keep our physical relationship moving slowly. I didn’t believe that you could still want this when you found out, but my foolish pride shouldn’t win over your right to know.”

He looked ashamed, and the implications of his words spun faster and faster until he took her hand, and pressed it into the side of his leg. She was still confused when he guided her hand down the length of his thigh, until she realized that it wasn’t the seam of his slacks he was following. It was harder, wider, and jagged in places. 

“What…?” Her eyes widened as her fingers explored the bumps and ridges. 

“You are not the only one that Bellatrix left her mark on,” he said softly. Tears sprang to her eyes even as emotion after emotion crashed through her. 

“What did she do to you?” Her whisper cut through him like knives. 

“Cissa was pregnant, but Bella didn’t know it… Bella was angry about something, and attempted to curse her. My wand hand was around Cissa, and I couldn’t block it, so I stepped in front of it, to protect Cissa. It decimated my hip…” His stomach twisted, thinking of that day, and again at the tears that spilled down Hermione’s cheeks. Steeling himself, he went on. 

“Healers were able to repair most of it, but as you know magical wounds are difficult to heal properly. It left a sizable scar and there are days the pain returns with varying severity. It is why I use a cane, though it is not always necessary, and why you will always be on my left side.” 

“But why would you think this would change my mind?” Hermione’s fingers still trembled over a knot of scar tissue on the outside of his knee. 

“It is a reminder of the kind of person I was; a testament to my foolishness.” A beat of silence was punctured only by Hermione’s ragged breathing. 

“I think it’s more a reminder of who you are… You saved your wife and son.” He chose not to correct her; the finer details of what actually happened could come later. Her fingers ghosted up over where it grew wider nearer his hip. “I don’t understand how Viv plays into it though.” He sighed. 

“I do my best to hide it; to not show my weakness. She saw right through it. I believe her words were along the lines of ‘she knew pain when she saw it,’ and asked if I was going to continue to hide it. I assumed Astoria had told her of my difficulties, but she claimed Astoria only ever spoke of my love for my family, which I’m inclined to believe.” 

Hermione nodded in comprehension, and then snatched her hand away, and he felt a pang of crushing disappointment, an iron fist closing around his heart. Somehow her rejection stung even more than Narcissa’s had. 

“Does it hurt now? To touch?” Her eyes were terrified at the prospect and she thought back to all the nights she sat beside him, unknowingly stroking the scar he wanted to keep hidden. She was worried she would hurt him, he realized; she wasn’t disgusted or shying away from it. His disappointment was gone as quickly as it had come. Her capacity for empathy was staggering, and he didn’t deserve her. “Have I hurt you before?” 

“No, my dear. It isn’t tender to the touch. The pain is within the joint and nerves.” Her shoulders relaxed, and she reached back out hesitantly. “Your touch is never unwelcome. It helps, in a way I can’t explain.” His eyes never left her face, afraid that if he turned away he would come back to see the same disgust that had lingered in Cissa’s eyes. 

“How have I missed it this whole time?” She sounded incredulous and heartbroken, the dismay clear in her eyes. 

“I didn’t want you to know. It was through no fault of your own, my dear.” She was still staring at his leg, the dark fabric obscuring any evidence there might be. 

“Can I see it?” Her question was drowning in uncertainty, and her hand stilled again. 

“Would it make you uncomfortable if I asked if we retired to our bedroom, then? I don’t relish the thought of being interrupted by my son or his fiancée, or any of our other guests.” The grimace on his face told her he was thinking of the fiasco with Hope, but her heart pounded at his words.  _ Our  _ bedroom.  _ Our  _ guests. Not “yours” or “the” or even “a” bedroom, but  _ ours.  _

She laughed, wiping the tears away from her face. “I think we can all agree that would best be avoided.” She stood, reaching out for his hand. The iron fist around his heart tightened again as his heart swelled at her gesture, and he was painfully aware of the way his hand shook as he took her outstretched hand. 

She watched him carefully, trying to find what Viv had seen, but he stood fluidly, gracefully; just as he always did. She let him lead her down the hall to her suite, trailing behind to watch his gait. There it was; he favored it ever so slightly, and every handful of steps it was as if his hip was catching slightly. How had that witch seen it? It was barely noticeable and Hermione had been looking for it. 

He held the door open with a knowing look, and she slipped past him, a tinge of guilt eating at her for not noticing. After locking the door behind them, he stood near the center of the room and stripped off his heavy outer robes, folding the charcoal grey garment neatly across the back of an armchair. 

“Are you sure? It’s not pretty.” His eyes searched hers, but she just twitched up her sleeve, stepping closer, just an arm's length away from him. 

“Neither is mine.” His eyes landed on the slur carved into her arm, and drew himself up to his full height. He slid his shoes and socks off, nudging them in line next to the chair. His waistcoat was next, the lighter, pearlescent grey nearly the color of his eyes. His long fingers at his cuffs made her heart pound, but his eyes were still on hers, so she didn’t stop him. 

He slid off his tie and picked down the line of buttons, the black shirt opening to reveal the plane of his pale, well-muscled chest. When it slid from his shoulders to join the other articles on the chair, she caught her first sight of it. 

Hermione’s breath caught at the sight of the thick, knotted scar that peeked up over the waistband of his slacks. It stood out bright white against his fair skin, and her stomach twisted to think what kind of damage it would take to cause a scar that size. She must've come so close to seeing it half a dozen times this week. She stepped closer and started to reach out for it, stopping herself inches from it. 

“It’s alright, my dear.” His breath ruffled her hair, and she reached out again with shaking fingers. 

The scar was smooth and solid beneath her fingers, her gentle touch not enough to manipulate the skin. She stepped back, waiting to see if he would continue. 

He did, his belt whispering through his belt loops as he pulled it free. A flick of his wrist, and his black slacks were sliding down his thighs. They pooled around his bare feet, and stepped out of them, his eyes still fixed on Hermione’s face. Her lips parted in dismay, and her eyes sparkled with tears. 

The scar started above his hip, widening as it disappeared beneath his black boxers, and re-emerged mid thigh, only tapering off at the side of his knee. The scar had haunted him for so long, and he’d been so sure she’d be just as sickened by it as Narcissa had. It had taken his wife years to be able to look at it, let alone touch it without shuddering.

“I didn’t know I could hate her any more…” Hermione’s whisper sounded so broken, and Lucius wondered how she could not just accept it, but be angry not at him, but on his behalf. She stepped closer, her hands slipping not over the scar but around his waist. She lay her head on his chest, but a second later kicked off her heels so she was at her customary place against him. 

He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her softly, pressing his nose into her hair. She pressed a kiss to his bare chest, then tilted her head back to kiss him softly. Her heart pounded at what she was about to do, but she pressed on. 

“I want you. No more waiting. No more putting it off because you think I’ll react one way or another. I want you. All of you.” He kissed her in response, pushing both of his hands through her hair. When she was gasping against his lips, he dropped his hands to push off her robes, his movements smooth and steady. They fell into a puddle around their bare feet, and his hands were already dragging the zip down the back of her dress. 

She shuddered as it left her skin exposed to the cool air, quickly followed by Lucius’ warm fingertips exploring the contours of her back. She let the dress slide down, shucking it off and stepping quickly back against Lucius’ warm body, her heart thundering as the bare skin of her stomach met his. She was only covered by her deep purple bra and panty set, and she silently thanked Bigsy for her foresight when setting it out for her as she’d readied for dinner with the Fairviews. 

Lucius stilled at her shudder, ready to tear himself away, damn the consequences, until he saw the flash of goose flesh covering her arms. He’d been so focused on her reactions that he hadn’t noticed how cool the room was. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and slid his hands from her back down over the curve of her arse and down to cup her thighs. Without letting her think about what he was doing, he hoisted her up against him, and he felt a rush of satisfaction when her legs tightened around his waist automatically. Her arms tensed around his shoulders, and he wrapped one arm around her arse to support her while he snaked the other around her back, keeping her close. 

The motion had her gasping, and her face now angled down toward his allowed him to kiss along her jaw to her ear. “Are you sure?” He felt fresh goose flesh erupt over her exposed skin, and her nipples pebbled with the satin confines of her brassière. 

She echoed his movements in reverse, kissing from his ear down his jaw to his mouth, landing on his lips and delving in for a kiss that felt like she was touching his very soul. 

“Yes.” 

The single, breathy word snapped what was left of his self control like a dry twig. 

With Hermione still firmly wrapped around him, he crossed the room with long strides, crawling into the middle of the bed before lowering her gently into the pillows. Even with the bed firmly beneath her, she didn’t loosen her grip, instead pulling him towards herself with every bit of strength she possessed. Bracing himself on his forearms, Lucius lost himself in the feeling of the witch beneath him. 

Hermione was softer and curvier than Narcissa had been, and he groaned softly when she finally released him, opting instead to touch as much of him as she could reach. He was almost unbearably hard within his shorts, and each swipe of her hands down his back and across his chest made his erection jump against the cleft of her arse. 

Hermione was gasping when he moved his assault to her neck, tangling his hands in her curls and groaning again when her fingers dug into the straining muscles of his shoulders. Moving down her body, he explored the soft skin with kisses and caresses, vowing to learn every secret to make her come undone for him. She was just as responsive to his touches as she had been to his notes across the conference table, and he reveled in each sigh, every whimper and gasp from her. 

“Luciussss,” Hermione moaned as he planted a string of open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs. His hands tightened on her hips, and Hermione grasped at his wrists, her breaths coming in quick, shallow pants. He released her hips, bracing his hands on the mattress and moving slowly back up her body, pausing to kiss the long purple scar that ran up the right side of her abdomen. She froze, and he looked up, his silver eyes searching her face. 

“You are beautiful, Hermione.” His voice was low and rough, and she watched the toned muscles in his chest and arms ripple as he pushed back up and over her. When they were eye to eye once more, she cupped his face and pulled him down for a deep kiss. 

“Gods you’re…” She floundered, looking for a word to express what she was feeling. His lips quirked up in amusement, and she had the distinct feeling that making her speechless was going to be one of his new favorite tricks. 

“I am?” He prompted, leaning down to kiss along the cups of her brassiere, leaving her panting and her eyes glazed over. 

“Distracting,” she finally managed, trailing her fingers down his ribs and down to his hips, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of his shorts, pushing them as far down as she could. Her shorter stature kept her from getting very far, and he chuckled, sitting back on his knees. Her lust-filled eyes took him in appreciatively as he eased the final garment down over his thighs, his heavy cock springing from its confines and standing proudly from his hips. 

Hermione’s lips parted, propping herself up on her elbows and watching it bob as he shuffled his shorts off and settled back onto his knees, watching her reaction carefully. She reached back, unhooking her bra and flinging it away before sitting up and reaching out for him again. 

“Distracting and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, again dragging her fingers down over his hips. 

He froze, not quite believing she still thought so after seeing his scars. Her hands and lips were insistent though, and he allowed himself to relax slightly, carefully angling himself so his left hip was hidden in the sheets, his hard length pressing gently into her side. One of her hands slid into his hair, and he moaned and she rolled her hips against him. 

“You are going to be the death of me,” he rasped, and she moved again, throwing her leg over him and rolling so they were both on their sides. With her leg hitched over his hip, he could feel his cock sliding over her silk-clad mound, and he gripped her body tighter against him. Her nipples rubbed against his bare chest, and her lips worked at the junction of his neck and shoulder, making his breath catch and cock throb at the sensations. 

He took a deep breath in, trying to steady himself, but was caught off guard by the intoxicating smell of her arousal mixed with raspberries. 

“Fuck, you smell amazing.” The unexpected explicative from his lips sent a shot of heat through her, and she rolled her hips against him as his hands tightened on her arse and thighs. 

“Please,” she moaned into his neck. “Please Lucius don’t make me wait any longer.” The hand tangled in his hair tightened painfully, her other hand clawing at his back. She would leave welts, and he would wear them proudly.

Her breathless begging was too much, and he tore her knickers down her thighs, bringing his hand up slowly, teasing her with his feather-light touch. “What do you want, darling?” His voice was silky once more, now he was laser focused on giving her anything she asked for. 

“Touch me. Please touch me.” Hermione was panting, contorting her body in an effort to find friction and some measure of relief. Lucius slid his hand up, parting her sex with a deft finger and earning an appreciative moan. “Yes, please yes!” Hermione jerked her hips, looking for more, and Lucius gladly gave her what she wanted; one long finger entered her while his thumb rubbed at her clit. Her thighs were shaking within moments, both of her hands now searching for purchase against the smooth expanse of his back. 

Her frustration that had been building over the last several days meant that a few seconds longer, and she was throwing her head back, waves of pleasure making her body convulse and her hands still, her fingers splayed out over his lower back and arse. He slowed his ministrations, letting her come down from her climax. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder, breathing hard. He kissed her temple gently, and rubbed small circles over her spine. He was so hard it ached, but it was her and her pleasure that he was catering to. 

“Gods. I don’t think I’ve ever… Not like that,” she panted. She kept her eyes closed, forehead pressed to his shoulder. “That was… You are… Holy shit.” Her ramblings were cut off by his low chuckle. 

“Do you need to take a break, darling?” 

“No!” Her eyes snapped open, and she flew up to face him. His answering smirk let her know he’d been joking, but she pressed into him for emphasis. “I want you to fuck me, Lucius. Now.” The sudden edge to her voice lit a fire behind his eyes, and he rolled so he had her caged beneath him, dropping his lips to her ear. 

He started a litany of praise, telling her how lovely she was while he lined up his cock with her entrance. He was well endowed, girthy without being obscene, and as he pressed into her, he could feel her stretching around him. He went slowly, carefully rocking in and out, conscientious of each of her shuddering breaths and the way her hands grabbed and scratched at his skin. She was so tight, but nearly dripping with desire, and it had been far too long since he’d been inside a witch. It was all he could do to not come at every little ripple of her around him. He felt as if he was twenty again.

Hermione was fairly certain his voice would have been enough to make her climax again, but his voice, combined with the gentle rocking and stretching of his cock made her head spin. She’d never felt so full. A handful of strokes later, and she was teetering on the edge, her legs shaking and her nails digging into Lucius’ back again. When he lowered his head and locked his lips around one nipple, she fell apart, crying out from a climax that was twice as intense as the first. 

With her sweet nipple in his mouth and her pussy squeezing the life out of his cock with every wave, Lucius stood no chance, and came with a strangled cry himself. He rolled to his left as not to crush her and simultaneously hide the scars from view, but he held her close, feeling her breathing slow. 

As they lay there together in the afterglow, he brushed his fingers absentmindedly over Hermione’s waist, and when he looked down, he realized that he’d been tracing the line of scar tissue down her torso. They both had scars, but together, he was beginning to have hope that they might begin to finally heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for! (some of you for multitude of reasons) What did you think?
> 
> Let me know! 
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> Ruby


	35. Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several possibilities are explored

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is a chapter that will make far more sense if you read Dragons and Roses first, but it isn't strictly necessary. 
> 
> Forgive me for any mistakes, they are strictly my own and probably due to sleep deprivation and extreme stress due to the global pandemic.

Lucius awoke the next morning feeling pleasantly sore. Hermione was pressed into his side, her hand limp on his chest. The previous night had been a tangle of limbs and sheets, whispered promises and moaned names. With the morning light beginning to illuminate the drapes, he could see Hermione’s eyes flicking beneath her lids. She was so beautiful like this, her wild curls draped across his arm and her leg hitched up over his. 

Even knowing Hermione didn’t share the same emotional aversion to it, he’d been amazed that she hadn’t shied away the moment that he’d revealed the scar that he’d worked so hard to hide for so long. She hadn’t been careful not to brush against it, and she trailed her hands over it while she whispered how beautiful he was, her eyes open and honest. 

He’d been worried that she was still recovering from her second bout with the flu, but she didn’t seem to be adversely affected. When they’d collapsed side by side after the third round of the night, she’d melted into his hold, a beatific smile gracing her lips even as they fell asleep. Lucius was absolutely certain he was never going to tire of feeling her body against his, and he was content to lay there for as long as the world would allow. 

A kiss to his shoulder brought him out of his contemplations as Hermione snuggled closer. “Good morning,” she sighed happily. 

“Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and slid his hand down her bare back. She hummed in response, the shiver of her body making him tighten his hold on her. Her hand swept over his chest, and then ventured down to where the scar began over his hip. Her touch was light, but he stiffened instinctively. 

“Did that hurt?” Lucius was aware of her scrutinizing gaze, but he didn’t meet her eyes. 

“No, it didn’t hurt. I’m just not accustomed to…” He trailed off, throat tightening. “Narcissa avoided it. It was a painful reminder of a multitude of bad memories.”

Hermione was quiet, though he knew she was bursting with questions. He alleviated her curiosity and continued. “It wasn’t Draco she was pregnant with. Draco was about a year and a half old at the time. Despite my intervention, she still lost the child... It was a girl, Christmas Eve of 1981. The healers said it was stress of my injuries that forced her into preterm labor… So for the remainder of our life together, she had a visible, tangible reminder of the child we lost. Narcissa couldn’t bear the possibility of losing another, so we agreed that Draco was enough. And Bella… We never forgave her, though for many years we were required to keep up appearances.”

Lucius realized he had a tight grip on the bedclothes, and released them, smoothing his hand over the sheets. He looked up in surprise when he felt a splash on his chest to find tears dripping down Hermione’s face. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, brushing the tears away. “I can’t even imagine…” He reached up and pushed a rogue curl away from her face, amazed yet again at her immense heart and capacity for empathy. 

“It’s in the past,” he said firmly, cupping her cheek and smoothing away another tear. “She’s dead and gone, and I will not have her ruining anything else for us.”

She looked up with tears clinging to her eyelashes, and the sight took his breath away as she echoed, “for us… Lucius…” His name on her trembling lips was the sweetest music he’d ever heard until her next words. 

“Lucius, I love you.” 

He thought his life had ended with Narcissa’s, but Hermione had given him a new beginning. 

“I love you too.”

He never expected to say those words again, let alone entertain the possibility that he would mean them. But in that moment, he’d never meant them more. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him with tear-salted lips and complete abandon. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet, and he pulled her closer, the ache in his leg momentarily forgotten as he buried his face in her curls. 

He leaned down to kiss her again as she surged up, resulting in their foreheads crashing together. 

“Ow,” Hermione groaned, while Lucius rubbed at the spot their heads connected. She collapsed back, hoping that it wouldn’t result in a worsening headache before they had to emerge. His rubbing had left a red mark on his fair skin, and Hermione couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the position she now found herself in. 

Lucius arched an eyebrow, and at his barely-amused expression, she laughed even harder, until she was doubled over. This is not what he’d expected after declaring his love for her. 

“I’m sorry!” She laughed even harder, and Lucius pressed his lips in a tight line, trying not to laugh with her. “This isn’t funny. I swear it’s not.” But she kept laughing until fresh tears leaked down her cheeks. 

“Care to share what supposedly isn’t amusing?” Lucius let a smile play at his lips, brushing her hair back from her face. She sobered, looking up at him in awe. 

“This time last month I was convinced I’d die alone. And then you came along with your ridiculously perfect hair and your old-school charm, and I was prepared to hex one of my best friends for acting like an idiot. Then I stumble in here, probably still half-drunk, and we say we’ll take it slow. And then I’m screaming at my best friends that I’m in love with you! I swore I was going to keep it to myself.” She dissolved into giggles again. “And now…” She gasped for breath, “I’m very naked and just bumped heads with you. I’m fairly certain if anyone had tried to tell me this was coming, I would have written them off as certifiably insane.” 

Lucius gave an undignified snort, falling back into the pillows and dragging his hand over his face. “That is not the half of it, my dear. My father is rolling in his grave.” 

“Let him.” She shuffled closer, her giggles fading again. “Let him roll and let the rest of the world act like idiots. It doesn’t matter. Because I love you.” 

He rolled to face her again, but before he could reply, a knock came at the door. He groaned. “My son is--”

“No, that was Harry’s knock.” Hermione was already scrambling from the bed, pulling on a dressing gown and fruitlessly attempting to smooth down her riotous curls. She checked to make sure Lucius was covered before opening the door a crack. 

“Harry I swear to Merlin--” She stopped, shifting so her body was hidden behind the door when she opened it to find not just Harry but Draco and Anthony Fairview with him in the hallway. 

“Sorry ‘Mione, but we need Lucius.” Harry looked supremely uncomfortable, and she couldn’t help but think he deserved to feel awkward for ruining their moment. Anthony was studiously examining the painting to the left of the door, and Draco looked like he was trying not to be ill on the rug. She sighed, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the cool wood of the heavy door. 

“He’ll be out in a minute.” With that, she slammed the door firmly, and turned back to where Lucius was still stretched out in bed. “Do I want to know why Draco and Anthony are on the other side of that door with Harry?” Lucius’ look of confusion quickly melted into one of resignation. 

“Someone breached Anthony’s wards before we arrived last night, before we arrived.” 

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as Lucius stood gracefully from bed, heading for the bathroom without a second glance towards the door. She heard the shower turn on, and was suddenly unsure of herself until he called, “are you coming, darling?” She joined him feeling entirely too disappointed that it wasn’t going to last. 

***

“For the last time, we can’t be sure that it was  _ actually  _ Wilson.” 

“Axios said--” 

“Axios is a fantastic auror, but he’s emotionally invested and--”

“If he said it was Wilson, it was bloody well Wilson!” 

Hermione was perched on the arm of Lucius’ chair, watching Harry and Anthony face off over Lucius’ desk. Draco was sprawled in a chair directly across from her, looking bored, while Lucius attempted to referee the two men. 

“I believed that is exactly who he thought he saw--” 

“Does it actually matter who it was?” Hermione finally cut in. “Someone got through. If it was Wilson or not, the end result is the same. The questions you should be asking are “why” and “how.” You can get to “who” later.” There were begrudging nods around the desk, and Anthony straightened, squaring his shoulders. 

“I’m concerned for Vivienne’s safety. She is supposed to return Friday for Cassia to finish her dress, but I don’t think she should--“ Anthony was cut off by a wave of Hermione’s hand. 

“Tori and I were supposed to be there Friday as well. Would it be presumptive to say that we should just have Cassia and Viv come here, if they’re willing? If she has other appointments, it may be prudent to have an auror on hand, but I would be willing to bet that you and Cassia aren’t in danger of any harm,” Hermione continued, ignoring Draco’s look of incredulity. 

Lucius just nodded beside her, and Harry crossed his arms, and she knew he accepted she was right. Anthony’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, and Hermione wondered just how much of his anxiety he was admitting to the assembled group. 

“Cassia would be thrilled to come back to Paris,” Anthony conceded, and Hermione nodded. 

“It’s settled then,” Harry said firmly. “Axios will be at the Ministry at four for a debrief, if you wouldn’t mind joining, Anthony. Lucius, as I understand it you were integral in designing the wards, would you mind coming along as well?” 

“If you think I will be of use,” he said carefully. Harry nodded again. 

“As fun as that sounds, I don’t think I’ll be needed, so if you’d all excuse me.” Draco stood and strode from the room before anyone could acknowledge him, and Hermione didn’t miss Lucius’ piercing stare that followed him. Harry turned his attention to Hermione, who was glancing over the front page of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ that lay on the polished desktop. 

“Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine.” She didn’t look up. Harry grimaced, but didn’t object. “I don’t think you’ll need me either, so I’ll stay here. Anthony, if Cassia needs anything before Friday to get set up here, will you have her owl me?” She waited for his nod before kissing Lucius softly, and leaving the men behind without another word. She intended on returning to the music room with the grand piano, but ended up outside the potions workroom instead. Inside she found Mathieu bent over a simmering cauldron, the contents swirling lazily. The pale silvery solution was mesmerizing to watch, and Hermione watching silently as he stirred it carefully. 

“A resolution solution? For your NEWT students?” He nodded, eyes still glued on the cauldron as he lowered the flame until the bubbles breaking the surface were miniscule. The potion was the rarely-used antidote for polyjuice potion. Most prefered just to allow the effects to wear off, as the potion was nearly as difficult as the potion it counteracted, though it didn’t take anywhere near as long to make. A week, versus a month. The ingredients were also far more commonplace, though Hermione could only think of a handful of times she’d ever even heard of it being used. 

“Our potions master didn’t even bother teaching it,” Hermione said thoughtfully, and Mathieu snorted. 

“Yes, Professor Slughorn. He was quite… antiquated… in his teaching methods, I find.” Hermione nodded, and Mathieu smiled, leaning back against the counter. “Professor Snape was, as I understand it, better, but not by much.” 

“He was a brilliant potions master, but teaching was not necessarily his first choice in profession.” Hermione paused, chewing on her lip. “Though I have him to thank for many things, my life among them.” She chuckled, and then added, “even though I set him on fire once.” Mathieu’s eyes got wide, and she laughed. “I swear I had a good reason. Or at least, I thought I did.” 

Mathieu shook his head. “And here I was, thinking Draco was exaggerating.” 

“Knowing Draco, he was exaggerating regardless.” Hermione giggled. “Did he tell you about the year Lucius bought the entire quidditch team brand new, top-of-the-line racing brooms to get him on the team?” 

Mathieu blinked slowly, shaking his head. “Though that does not much surprise me, knowing what I do of Lucius.” He paused, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Or Draco, really.”

Hermione threw her head back, laughing heartily. “Ron tried to hex him with a broken wand, and ended up puking up slugs for hours. It was revolting.” 

“For brooms?”

“No…” Hermione sobered, remembering exactly why Ron had come to her defense. It had been the first time Draco had called her a mudblood. She rubbed unconsciously at her left forearm, the stinging pain a sharp reminder of the history they all had. “No, not for the brooms. It was a long time ago, though.” 

Mathieu watched her for a moment, his long limbs crossed in front of him, his blue-grey eyes appraising. “I do not wish to be presumptive, but I have read…” he gestured at her arm, and heat flooded her cheeks. “My mother spent a significant amount of time in hospital, and I developed a… shall we say… interest… in magical injuries.” He braced his hands on either side of him, standing a bit straighter. “As I said, I do not wish to be presumptive, but I developed a topical potion that I believe may be beneficial to injuries like yours.” 

Hermione blinked at him, not believing she was hearing him correctly. She flipped through the people she loved in her mind, almost all of them physically scarred. Herself, Harry, Ron, Arthur, Lucius, even Lavender. “I researched for years,” she heard herself saying. “There wasn’t anything I found that could counteract the magic that keeps it…” Her throat tightened. 

“That is because the healers that tried before have never used muggle knowledge to augment their own magic,” he said simply. “On a cellular level, the injury is much like any other. The potion simply acts as a... “ He paused, muttering in French. “Un… Catalyseur.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows drew together. “A catalyst?” 

Mathieu raised a hand in thanks. “A catalyst, yes. Along with a barrier, to allow the healing to take place.” Hermione just stared at him, wheels spinning. If what he was saying was correct, she could be free of the slur for good. But it sounded like it wouldn’t help the scars that Ron, Lavender, and Lucius sported. Arthur’s though… It was possible. Unlikely, but she thought possible was better than what they’d had ten minutes ago. 

“If you wish to read my research first, I would understand. Though, I do ask that if you choose to do so, you keep it between us for now.” She nodded mutely, her chest still tight. “It’s in my room.” He opened the door with a flick of his wand, and gestured for her to go first. They walked in silence, and in his room, she hovered near the door, her thoughts spinning. He handed her a neatly bound notebook. “Between us.” 

She nodded, and tucking it closely to her chest, hurried from the room. She nearly collided into a figure just outside, looking up just in time to avoid hitting Hope. The taller, blonde witch stared at her with a disgusted look that she quickly dropped when Mathieu materialized behind Hermione. 

“Er… I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can,” she told him nervously. 

“Take your time. I do not think either of us will be going anywhere anytime soon,” he said lightly. Hermione caught Hope’s raised eyebrow, but hurried away towards a drawing room that she hoped was far enough out of the way to be empty. It thankfully was, and it wasn’t until nearly six that evening that Lucius found her, curled up asleep with a book in her hand. 

A gentle stroke of her hair and she was stirring, blinking up sleepily at him. “Did you have a nice nap, darling?” He smiled gently, a smile she’d come to find he reserved for her own eyes. She let her eyes close again, the warmth of his body relaxing her. 

“Somebody kept me up for most of the night. I was just catching up on lost time.” She noted the blanket that had been draped over her, and turned to look at him more closely. He looked relaxed, his guard down and eyes open as he stroked her hip through the blanket. 

“I do believe it was your idea, dear. Though I was all too happy to let you sleep, I didn’t think missing another meal would be good for you.” At that she closed her eyes again, content to listen to him speak. “Would you like to come to dinner or should I have Bigsy bring you a plate?” 

“Mmm are you on the menu?” She cracked an eye to see him smile and shake his head. She laughed softly. “I’m coming.” She stretched, yawning and reaching out for him. He caught her hand and kissed it before standing and waiting expectantly. “You’re in a good mood. All go well at the Ministry then?” She set aside the book and got to her feet, feeling pleased when he slid an arm around her rather than just offering it to her. 

“Well enough. Axios and Vivienne will come here Friday along with Anthony and Cassia. I invited them all to stay for dinner. Though I think my current disposition has more to do with you than what may or may not have happened outside of these walls.” He tightened his hold briefly, and Hermione could feel herself practically glow with happiness. 

When they reached the hallway, Lucius kept his arm securely around her, and even Rose’s suggestive eyebrow waggle as they entered the dining room wasn’t enough to bring down Hermione’s grin. When Hope came in, however, Hermione stiffened as the blonde looked between her, Mathieu, and Lucius. Mathieu was discussing a potions master’s conference with Rose and didn’t look up. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Lucius narrowed his eyes at Hermione. 

Hope sat next to Rose, as far from Lucius as possible without saying a word, but her eyes kept falling to Hermione and Mathieu on her other side. Hermione edged closer to Lucius as the meal went on, until she was on the very corner of the table and Lucius was looking at her with concern creasing his brow. 

After excusing themselves, Lucius led Hermione into his study, pulling the door shut and throwing up a silencing charm. 

“What was that all about? Did Mathieu do something to upset you?” Hermione dropped into a chair, pulling her hair off her neck, exasperation clawing at her. 

“No, just the opposite. Hope saw us in the hall after he gave me his research to read and she’s acting like there’s more to it than there is!” Hermione’s frustration was quickly reaching a boiling point with the young witch. “She’s nearly as bad as fucking Rita Skeeter and I kept her in a jar for months. I’m convinced the Sorting Hat made a mistake with her. She should have been in Slytherin,” Hermione ranted, scowling at Lucius’ answering chuckle. 

“Are you angry because she is so determined to see us fail or because you believed for however brief a time I would consider your friendship with Mathieu to have the possibility of something deeper?” Lucius handed her a glass and took his place beside her as she considered his question. 

“Well… both,” she admitted after several long completive moments. “I feel like the odds are already stacked against us, and to have someone rooting for that failure staying with us is a slap in the face. And I’m still just trying to become accustomed to having someone that doesn’t second guess my every motive and decision.” She kept her eyes trained on the amber liquid in the glass, but she could feel his eyes on her.

His fingers ghosted over her shoulder and she shuddered, leaning into his touch. “I’m doing my best to not let her get to me, but she is incredibly irritating. And what the fuck did you mean by ‘facilitating the removal of her father’?” Her curiosity got the better of her, and she registered the look of surprise on Lucius’ face. 

“I think it would be best to show you, rather than try to explain. I just ask that you don’t tell Rose that you know of what I will show you.” 

Hermione blinked slowly, but nodded. Following him to the pensieve, she waited as Lucius placed his wand tip to his temple, pulling it away with silvery strands of memory clinging to the wand. Several strands of memories later, and he gestured to the dish. She leaned forward and was swept from the château and into an office she recognized as the old International Law offices at the ministry. 

A nearly decade younger Lucius and Minerva flanked a crying Rose, looking small and afraid. Her hair was long, tied with a yellow ribbon that seemed to be fading before Hermione’s eyes. The current-day Lucius reached for Hermione’s hand even as Rose began to speak. 

Hermione listened in horror as Rose recounted years of abuse at the hands of her father. She named her mother and sister as victims, and Hermione struggled to stay calm as she listened to what the girls had endured. Rose told them everything, and the ancient-looking wizard across the desk grew steadily paler, until Rose was finished and the parchment he’d been taking notes on had more color than his face. 

“Minerva, I need to speak to Mr McCleery. Would you mind taking Ms Hollingsworth, and I’ll be with you in a moment to escort you back to the castle.” 

Minerva hastily wiped the tears from her eyes and wrapped a protective arm around Rose, leading her from the office. Lucius waited until the door closed, and then faced the older man. 

“What will it take for the ICW to intercede on their behalf?” Lucius sounded calm, but Hermione recognized the icy anger beneath it. 

The man recoiled, obviously expecting the worst. He spoke in a high, reedy voice, still cringing away from Lucius. “I do believe they will cut ties with Mr Hollingsworth based on the evidence given, but I fear I can’t promise that Mrs Hollingsworth and her children will be provided for. This is rather unusual for someone with such a high rank as Mr Hollingsworth.” 

Lucius’ lip curled, and Hermione felt a pit in her stomach. She had to remind herself that much had changed in the last decade, and he wasn’t the man she faced in the Department of Mysteries any longer. The man in the memory was much closer to that man than the Lucius at her side was. 

“Then I will personally arrange for the funds for them to be provided for until such time they are settled in the US once more. I will send the documents in the morning, and I trust this will be handled with the utmost delicacy and discretion. They are not to know, is that understood? 

The man’s eyes widened. “Mr Malfoy, I have to warn you that this will not decrease your reparation—“

“This is not about reparations, Fergus!” Lucius’ voice boomed across the office, and Hermione’s jaw dropped. “This is about a woman and two  _ children _ that have been failed time and time again, and the time for failure is  _ over.”  _ His voice dropped dangerously low, and Hermione saw Mr McCleery’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard in the face of Lucius’ fury. 

“Very well. If this is how you wish to proceed, I will arrange the necessary accommodations.”

“I will inform Mrs Hollingsworth in the morning that it is being provided by the ICW and I expect that to be explanation enough. If questions are asked, I expect you to come directly to me, understood?” Lucius straightened, pinning the other man with a silver stare. He nodded, and Lucius strode from the room. 

The room dissolved, and reformed. Hermione recognized the hallways of Malfoy Manor, although they looked to be halfway through some sort of renovation. Lucius and Narcissa walked side by side, Lucius’ hands locked behind his back. 

“I don’t believe for a moment that simply moving them away will be enough, Narcissa. He reminded me of Rodolphus.” Hermione heard the contempt in his voice, though she couldn’t see his face as they trailed behind him. 

“Draco is smitten. I’m sure we’ll hear updates from him, if she doesn’t show up here herself.” 

Again the room dissolved, and reformed as Lucius’ study. He was at the desk, though it looked as if a year or two had passed. He looked up, and Hermione saw Rose lingering in the doorway. 

“Ms Hollingsworth,” Lucius stood, greeting her formally. She crossed her arms, but came in, lingering behind one of the wingback chairs at the fire, facing him. 

“The ICW didn’t pay for my mom’s return to the US, and someone has been quietly paying Hope’s tuition to Ilvermorny, but nobody can seem to tell me who it is.” She paused, smoothing her hand over the velvet upholstery. “Or they’re too scared to say.” 

Lucius didn’t say a word, just watched the girl across from him with wary eyes. 

“There are few people that can inspire that kind of fear, Mr Malfoy, and I would be stupid to believe for a moment that of all the possibilities, you weren’t the one to be moving behind the scenes. I don’t know what you want from us, but thank you anyway.” She turned and left the room, leaving Lucius with a look of honest appreciation. 

Hermione expected the room to dissolve, but jumped when Narcissa’s voice came from behind her. She hadn’t noticed the woman standing at the shelf in the corner. 

“Intriguing girl, is she not?” Narcissa floated forward, a smirk that clearly showed her relation to Draco on her lips. “She is one to watch carefully, I think.” Lucius lowered himself into his chair, expression thoughtful. 

The room dissolved, and reformed this time into a balcony overlooking the gardens. Despite the obvious late hour, two figures walked through the gardens arm in arm. Draco was immediately recognizable with his pale hair, but it wasn’t until they turned that Hermione recognized Alice MacNamara on his arm. 

Memory-Lucius sat in the shadows, watching their slow loop around the gardens when Rose’s voice came from the doorway. 

“He’s dead, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Lucius simply inclined his head, eyes not leaving the black-clad pair below. 

“I don’t know that I’m more mad that I never got to tell him what I really thought, or that he made me miss her funeral. And Theo’s, too.” 

Lucius shifted, making room on the bench for her to sit beside him, and Hermione was surprised when Rose sat without hesitation. 

“Hope stayed in Paris, thank Merlin. She’s going a bit crazy, but I can’t really fault her, can I? I still don’t know why she suddenly decided Dad wasn’t worth her time but…” Rose trailed off, glancing at Lucius, who spared her a glance and a quirked eyebrow. “Of course it was you. What did you say?”

He was quiet for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “That your father was blinded to true worth.” 

Rose snorted. “Am I ever going to not be in your debt for one thing or another?” 

“There is no debt, Rose.” 

Both memory and present-day Lucius stared out over the moonlit landscape, and Hermione held on to his hand, pressing her cheek to his arm. 

“A father without a daughter and a daughter without a father. Would it be a stretch to think that there are pieces missing that can be filled?” The thinly veiled hope in Rose’s voice broke Hermione’s heart, but she couldn’t help her jaw dropping in surprise at Rose’s presumption. The Lucius beside her chuckled. 

“I told you she’s rather straightforward.” 

“Now I’m seriously wondering about her comments about your body in my office.” Hermione grimaced at the memory, and Lucius sighed. 

“I suspect it has more to do with her fear of losing the bond we’ve cultivated than you personally. She has always had a flare for creating waves, so to speak. I warned you Draco would test you, I should have thought of Rose’s reaction as well.”

As they spoke, the room dissolved and reformed once more, this time condensing into what looked to be an art gallery, and Hermione recognized Marcel greeting Lucius. 

“A strong return, Esmée would be proud,” Lucius was telling him as they shook hands. 

“I hope so. I could not have done it without Hope, though. I will forever be grateful to you and Narcissa for introducing us. After Sophie…” Marcel cleared his throat. “Hope has been a Godsend.” He looked around, raising a hand. “Hope, my dear!” 

Hope materialized, looking far more chic than Hermione had seen her yet in a fitted pencil skirt and pale blue silk blouse. Her eyes widened as she recognized Lucius. 

“Mr Malfoy,” she mumbled. “Rose will be here shortly, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.” She whisked herself away before Lucius could reply. 

“She’s worked so hard, I’m so proud of her,” Marcel said softly, and Lucius nodded solemnly. 

“Rose has told me how well she’s done with you. She’s quite proud,” Lucius informed him with a ghost of a smile. 

“Lucius!” 

Hermione jumped as Rose appeared, and memory-Lucius’ smile grew. 

They exchanged pleasantries, and Marcel wandered off to speak to other patrons, leaving Rose and Lucius with a painting of a garden in the depths of winter. 

“Draco was telling me we’re expecting you at the manor,” he said lightly. She nodded absentmindedly as she cocked her head at the painting. 

“Yeah, I was going to come tonight, but Hope wants me to come to this after party…” She cast a furtive look around. “She has a new boyfriend and I don’t like him,” she confided. Lucius cocked an eyebrow, and Rose jerked her head to the left. Hermione spotted Hope nearly immediately, hanging on the arm of a man Hermione couldn’t see clearly, other than the back of his balding head. “It’s like she’s trying to replace Dad with a boyfriend.”

“Perhaps she just enjoys the company of older men. It’s not uncommon,” he said gently, and Hermione snorted. 

“I’ll say,” she muttered under her breath. 

“It’s not his age I’m worried about. He looks like Dad. It’s creepy.” Memory-Lucius narrowed his eyes, and conceded with a nod of his head. 

“I see your point. But she is an adult, Rose. She must be allowed to make her own decisions, and you can’t protect her from everything.” Rose sighed heavily. 

“I promised I wouldn’t hide in a corner. But I’ll see you tomorrow, before the Greengrass’s ball?” Again, her hopeful smile made Hermione’s throat tighten, and she suddenly realized that Rose saw Lucius much as she saw Arthur. The parallels were uncanny, and Hermione found an odd sort of comfort in it. 

Lucius beside her waved a hand, and they were deposited back at the château. They were back in his study before either of them spoke again. 

“I understand now,” she said finally, as Lucius took his place on the sofa. “Well, most of it, at least.” 

Lucius nodded. “I thought you might. Rose is actually quite like you, in many ways. Hope… I think Hope is just lost.” 

Hermione hummed, tucking herself securely into his side. “Lost or not, if she doesn’t settle, someone hexing her is a distinct possibility.”

Lucius sighed, but pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, and I would love to hear what you think! 
> 
> XOXO, 
> 
> Ruby


	36. Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future is in question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to all of you that are still following these stories, and for being so patient with me. 
> 
> I’m still writing, but the stress of working in a clinical setting during this pandemic is taking a significant toll on me and my colleagues, meaning that unfortunately I’ve had less time than I’ve had previously. It’s my hope that as we adjust, I will be able to get back to my {much quicker} posting schedule. 
> 
> This chapter is chronicled in a bit more detail in both previous stories, so if you’re curious as to what’s being said, go check them out! 
> 
> But without further ado...

The next several days Hermione and Lucius kept themselves busy with dance lessons and long nights, though Hermione watched the Hollingsworth sisters closely. Hope looked continuously to Lucius for approval, however discreetly, while Hope continued to pout. Hermione also noted Draco’s reluctance to allow Astoria to venture too far from his side, despite the safety measures in place. 

Thursday night, they were in Lucius’ study after dinner when they heard raised voices from the sitting room attached to the study. Hermione didn’t understand what was being said, but Lucius sighed heavily at the men’s voices.

“Mathieu is evidently less than thrilled at Marcel’s reliance on Hope,” he paraphrased for her. 

“Elle n'est pas Sophie!” A door slammed in the next room, and Hermione winced. 

“Who is Sophie?” Hermione whispered, laying her book down on her stomach to look up from where her head rested on Lucius’ thigh. Once again their left hands were tangled together, and he stroked her hair absentmindedly with his free hand as they read. 

“Sophie is Mathieu’s older sister…” Lucius said slowly, his hand stilling on her hair. “Andrew was the youngest of Marcel’s three children. He died a few months before Narcissa in an experimental potions accident. Shortly thereafter, Marcel’s wife Esmée fell ill. Sophie blamed magic and renounced it. She hasn’t spoken to Marcel or Mathieu since Esmée died.” 

Hermione looked horrified, and Lucius nodded solemnly. “Poor Marcel… and Mathieu.” Lucius’ hand tightened around hers, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in the feeling of him playing with her hair. The only other sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of a turning page of the book that floated before Lucius. It took several page turns before Hermione realized he hadn’t even stopped playing with her hair to turn the page. She cracked her eyes open, watching him through her lashes. As his eyes reached the end of the page, it turned as if it was waiting for him. 

“How in the bloody hell are you doing that?” He looked around at her question, mild surprise mingled with confusion lifting his eyebrows. “I’ve never seen anyone perform not just nonverbal but  _ wandless _ magic like you do. Do you even think about it?” She twisted slightly to look up at him in time to see a flicker of something flit across his face before a hardness replaced it, and his hand in her hair stilled once again. 

“No, I don’t.” His terse answer piqued her interest, but she hesitated at asking further. At the next page turn, she watched openly, and he sighed. “It was a necessary adjustment, and I’ve since found it makes some tasks more simple. Others I do without thinking as it became habit.” 

Thoughts raced around in her head, until his words from Christmas Eve came back to her. “ I myself didn’t have a wand for nearly a year... The Dark Lord was quite amused at the discomfort that came with being without one.” Her stomach turned, and she watched his eyes return to the page before him, but they didn’t dart across the page, instead staring unseeing at the print. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he sighed again. 

“It’s in the past.” 

“That doesn’t mean what happened to us doesn’t still affect us.” 

“No, but I refuse to dwell on that time any more than necessary.” 

“There’s a difference between not dwelling on it and avoiding it completely.” She said it gently, but knew immediately she had hit a sore spot. She felt his posture stiffen, but she couldn’t hold her tongue. “We’ve barely talked about it. It wasn’t something that we can pretend didn’t happen.” 

“I wasn’t aware it was something you felt we needed to discuss.” His tone was clipped, much as it had been in Harry’s office, and she felt a flash of annoyance. 

“It was a significant portion of our lives, Lucius. It quite literally changed the world we live in, and changed us both more so than probably anyone else involved.” She sat up, turning to face him, but he kept his eyes steadily on his book. Other than the slightest tightening in his jaw, he showed no outward sign that he even heard her. Her annoyance melted into anger, and she carefully set her book aside before throwing off the blanket she’d had draped over her legs. 

“Fine.” She stalked from the room, and in a split-second decision, summoned Mathieu’s notebook from her room and set off in search of the potions master. She found him in the work room, his hands braced on the counter and his head hanging low. 

“Are you alright?” 

He shot upright at her soft question, and Hermione jumped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude…” she backed towards the door, and he shook his head. 

“I am sorry. I did not hear you come in.” He straightened his jumper as he turned towards her, revealing eyes that were red, but dry. He hadn’t worn robes since arriving, and Hermione was relatively certain that she’d never seen him in them while at the school, either. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione repeated the question, and he sighed. 

“I will be fine, thank you.” 

“I finished reading your research,” she offered, holding out the notebook. He arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter behind him. “I’m no healer, but it sounds like you covered all the bases. How did you come to the conclusion that Muggle microbiology was the answer?” When he didn’t reach for it, she slid the notebook onto the work bench, stepping back and crossing her arms across her chest. 

“A healer at St Mungo’s was talking about a muggle treatment for burns in the hall one day. It made me wonder if I could use a… magical equivalent.” 

Hermione nodded slowly. “Have you tested it?” 

“On relatively simple injuries, yes.” 

“By simple you mean non-magical.” Hermione guessed, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. Hermione considered for a moment before shrugging. “Okay. Let’s try it.” 

Mathieu quirked his eyebrow in a way that reminded Hermione starkly of Lucius, and her determination redoubled.

“Is that really all it takes?” 

“It’s better than any chance I’ve had before now, and Lucius pissed me off. So yes, that’s all it takes, unless you’d rather find another guinea pig.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture, and inclined his head. 

“May I see it? I need to determine if the potion components will react negatively with the magic.” 

Hermione took a deep breath, uncrossing her arms and pulling up her sleeve. She offered her arm across the workbench, and he leaned over it, withdrawing his wand and ending the charm that hid the ruined skin from view. As the magic melted away, she watched his face carefully for any one of the many reactions she’d come to expect over the last eight years, but his expression remained diplomatically neutral. 

After murmuring a litany of incantations over the wound, he straightened, and Hermione held her breath as she waited for his decision. Her pulse quickened, and for the first time she allowed herself a moment of hope that this was the answer. 

“I underestimated how dark the magic that caused your injuries was.” His voice was gentle, but Hermione felt as if she had the air knocked out of her. She started to withdraw her arm, but Mathieu caught her wrist in an iron grip. “I underestimated, but with a number of small changes to my formulation, I believe it will do some good.” 

Hermione blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes at the crushing disappointment as she digested his words. 

“Some good?” She narrowed her eyes, and he nodded. 

“I do not wish to give you false hope, but I believe it will at the very least heal enough to no longer pain you.” She nodded slowly, and Mathieu let go of her wrist. “Do you still wish to proceed?” 

She met his eyes, and recognizing that they both had their guards up, exhaled slowly. “If there’s any chance at all, I’ll take it.” His shoulders relaxed, and he nodded curtly. 

“It will take some time to make the necessary adjustments, but it should be ready by this time tomorrow.” He turned away, rearranging the work space with a wave of his wand. She was about to ask if he preferred to work alone when the door opened, and she turned to see Rose looking startled in the doorway. 

“Am I interrupting?” She looked between the two, her eyes landing on the bare wound. 

Hermione yanked her sleeve down, and told her coolly, “Not at all. I was just leaving, unless you needed anything else?” She turned back to Mathieu, who shook his head without looking up from the assortment of vials and jars spread before him. Hermione waited until Rose stepped aside, and strode past her without looking back. 

She faltered once she turned the corner, not sure where to go from there. She was still too frustrated with Lucius to try to go back to his study, and she was too wound up to try to go to bed yet. She wanted to avoid Hope by any means possible, and she wasn’t in the mood for Draco’s needling. At the very least, she knew where Rose was to avoid any unwanted conflict there, though she wished she’d been able to stay with Mathieu. She had so many questions for him, but she didn’t want to distract him, either. For such a large house, she felt surprisingly suffocated and at a loss for where to go. 

She finally decided on the library, hoping that it was deserted. Cracking the door, she didn’t see anyone, and slipped in with a sigh of relief. Her relief was short-lived though, when movement caught her eye. 

Tori was curled up in an armchair in a dark corner, a book lying forgotten in her hand, facing one of the wide windows. She’d twisted when Hermione entered, and gave her a gentle smile. 

“Feeling a little overwhelmed?” 

Hermione blinked at her frank question, and Astoria gestured at the chair next to her. Hermione took it somewhat hesitantly. 

“I suppose so, yes. Overwhelmed and frustrated,” she admitted, following Astoria’s gaze to the night sky framed by gauzy curtains. 

“Let me guess. Lucius is being hard-headed and refusing to talk about something important.” 

Hermione let out a short laugh. “Spot on.” 

Astoria smiled, nodding. “Draco too. They’re both like that. They don’t like to talk. It’s bloody infuriating, isn’t it?” Her smile faded, and Hermione wondered how she was handling Rose’s presence. 

“I brought up children, and I think it scared him,” she said after a while. “I didn’t mean it needed to be soon. I was just thinking if we had a girl, I’d want to name her Lyra. I think the future scares him. He’s constantly looking back.”

“Lucius has the opposite problem. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the past.” 

“Two sides to the same coin, really.” Astoria murmured. “They’re so much alike. I didn’t used to be able to see it, I thought Narcissa was crazy when she’d say it. But it’s definitely true.” 

“Part of me wishes I could have met her. The other part of me tells me it’s better that I didn’t know her. I already feel like I can’t live up to her.”

“Trust me when I say you aren’t alone there.” She grimaced. “I always said I wasn’t cut out for being a lady, let alone the next Lady Malfoy.” 

Hermione cocked her head, looking at the younger woman. “You’re exactly what anyone would have expected. Why would you think you weren’t cut out for it?” 

Astoria laughed. “I guess I do a decent job of looking the part when I need to. But really… I just want to do some good. I like my job, and I don’t want to give it up. Draco knows that, and doesn’t expect me to, but people won’t understand. They’ll wonder why I don’t just move my focus to charity and call it a day.” 

Hermione snorted. “Those are the people that don’t understand what it means to actually see their actions rewarded. Throwing money at a problem will only get you so far if there isn’t someone working in the trenches to make the necessary changes.” 

“Exactly.” Astoria and Hermione shared a smile, and Hermione felt as if she had a true ally in the house. They stayed there for a long time, until Draco found them in the wee hours, talking over cold cups of tea. 

They parted ways, Draco looking slightly concerned at their conspiratorial smiles, and Hermione slipped into her bedroom to find Lucius already asleep in bed. The hours had dulled her annoyance, and she softened further at the angelic picture he made. Changing as silently as she could manage, she wondered how they were supposed to go back to “normal” after the new year. They’d progressed so quickly, in part due to necessity, but she wasn’t sure if she would be able to go back to her empty flat and cold bed. But what came next?

Slipping between the sheets, she relaxed despite herself as Lucius reached out for her in his sleep. He’d forgone a shirt, and in the silvery moonlight, she could just make out the scar on his arm where his Dark Mark had once stood out in sharp relief; now it was a pale mark that anyone that didn’t know the history of wouldn’t think twice about. Unfortunately, they knew, and she just hoped it wouldn’t be the end before they even began. 

The next morning Hermione awoke to an empty bed, and with everyone at breakfast, she didn’t dare say more than good morning as he brushed a chaste kiss to her hand. She spent most of the day in the library reviewing a stack of records Viv had sent her, until Bigsy appeared to tell her that the Fairviews would be there shortly. She closed the book she’d been attempting to lose herself in, and chewed her lip for a moment before squaring her shoulders and met Astoria in the hall. 

She and Astoria greeted Cassia warmly, and Hermione watched curiously as Rose deposited the older witch and fled from the room. Astoria shot her a look that Hermione interpreted to mean she would get the story later, but quickly forgot about Rose’s odd behavior when she returned a few minutes after Viv, and quickly made everyone in the room uncomfortable. She didn’t remember until after Cassia had finished with her own gown, Rose had disappeared, and Viv was deep in quiet conversation with Cassia. Astoria nudged her gently, and they slipped from the drawing room they’d converted into a space for Cassia to use.

“Rose and Axios had a fling last year,” Astoria whispered as they made their way down the hall towards Lucius’ study. “I always got the impression it didn’t end well, but I never did find out what happened.” They were met with the men leaving the study, and Astoria and Hermione took their places beside Draco and Lucius, following them to the dining room. 

“Cassia and Viv will be done shortly,” Astoria assured the two Fairview men as they took their places at the table. Anthony smiled easily, while Axios just glanced back at the door. 

The missing guests filtered in, Marcel and Hope followed by Mathieu and Rose, who interestingly enough, was directed to Axios’ side. Hermione noted a distinct chilliness between not just Axios and Rose, but Rose and Mathieu until Cassia and Viv entered, and Axios’ full attention was captured. Hermione noticed that Viv’s robes had been altered since she’d arrived, and Cassia was looking smugly on as her son reached out for the petite redhead. Rose glared at where Axios’ hand landed on Viv’s waist, and Mathieu looked pointedly away. Viv took her place across from Hermione, and Hermione flashed her a reassuring smile, knowing full well she’d be nervous at the close proximity to Lucius. 

Hermione tried not to cringe at Mathieu’s barely-concealed hurt, but her attention was quickly drawn back to Viv when her giggle at Hermione and Draco’s simultaneous snort at Lucius’ introductions turned into a gasping choke. Somehow what had started as a laugh turned into the closest thing Hermione had seen to a battle without anyone drawing a wand. Mathieu snapped at his father in French, Viv shot a reproachful remark at Astoria, and it eventually deteriorated into Draco putting his foot in his mouth and Hermione’s patience with Hope coming to an end. When Marcel insulted Viv and Anthony challenged him, Lucius had enough. 

“We are all adults here, and the dinner table is not the place to air out our dirty laundry.” He stood at the head of the table, staring them each down as if they were children. Even with his chiding, the situation continued to dissolve. Hermione’s emotions were boiling ever closer to the surface even as Viv cried, Mathieu made several more jabs at Axios, and Rose inserted herself once more. Hermione turned to Lucius in horror as Rose tore into Viv, and the rest of the table watched in shocked silence as Viv turned on Axios. 

Hermione was suddenly acutely aware of everyone’s own pain as she watched Mathieu and Rose left the dining room. They each had their hidden scars and Hermione felt as if the air had been sucked from the room as Axios said to Viv, “I was willing to be whatever you needed, Livvy. If hating me would have made you feel better, I would have let you hate me until the end of time.” Hermione turned to Lucius, the pain in his silver eyes mirroring the wrenching feeling in her chest. 

“I’m not as strong as he is, darling. I couldn't bear it.” His quiet words were only for her, and she understood immediately. She flung herself at him, not caring that the room was full or that Viv was sobbing in Axios’ arms across the table. Lucius didn’t object, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms firmly around her. She buried her face in his chest, and was only partially aware of others leaving the dining room. 

“You’re right. It’s in the past. I can’t hate you, I can’t even stay mad at you!” She tightened her hold on his neck, and he likewise tightened his grip. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” They stayed that way for a while, until Hermione’s breathing calmed. 

A flash of silver from the corner of her eye had her looking up to find a patronus condensing into a full-sized lion in the center of the table. Axios was looking expectantly at the giant cat over Viv’s head, and it opened its mouth and spoke with Neville’s voice. 

“Fairview, get back to the castle. Bring Viv, a student was attacked. We’ll be waiting for you in her office.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding--” Axios was on his feet, setting Viv on her feet and pulling her towards the door. Hermione wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks and sighed. The only other guests now remaining in the dining room were Anthony and Cassia. Anthony checked his watch with deliberate slowness. 

“I give it fifteen.” 

“Ten,” Lucius responded with an equally dramatic sigh. Hermione looked between them, and Cassia rolled her eyes. 

“Minerva will be reaching out shortly,” she explained, and Hermione nodded. As members of the Board of Governors it would stand to reason that they would be summoned after an attack on a student. 

“How long have you been on the board, Anthony?” Hermione was running through the list of governors in her head, but she couldn’t remember when each of them had been elected. 

“I was one of the first to sit after the war,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I meant for it to just be while Axios was at school, and then this one had to go and convince me to stay,” he waved a lazy hand at Lucius, “and then my son somehow ended up as a professor, so I’ve stuck around.” Hermione nodded, and Anthony grinned. 

“Though I heard all about your escapades from some of the others.” 

“Okay most of that was Harry’s doing,” she argued, and Anthony laughed. 

“Yes, my particular favorite tale was to hear about the car crashing into the Whomping Willow from Pomona. She got so worked up, even years later.”

“I wasn’t involved in that one,” Hermione sniffed. “In fact, if I remember correctly, I think I lectured the boys more than Minerva did,” she smiled at the memory. “I spent an awful lot of my time lecturing them, though.” 

Cassia laughed, and her eyes glittered approvingly. “They needed you. Just as Lucius does now.” 

Lucius rolled his eyes theatrically, and Hermione shook her head. “I never get very far, do I love?” Her heart fluttered at her first use of the endearment, but Lucius looked pleased. 

“I hardly think that I need as much lecturing as two adolescent boys,” he said coolly, the warmth in his eyes belying his good humor. 

“I don’t know, the old Lucius never would have allowed that little spectacle,” Anthony said lightly, and Lucius sighed. 

“I will admit to a lapse in judgement, but nothing more.” His hand tightened on Hermione’s leg, and she shook her head. 

“That wasn’t your fault. We’ve all been simmering since we got here. Throwing Axios and Viv in the middle of the dynamic just brought it to a head sooner than later.” She winced. “If I’d known Rose and Axios had a rocky history I never would have suggested it. I shouldn’t have, just considering Mathieu and Viv’s relationship either honestly.” 

“I didn’t even know about the Hollingsworth girl,” Anthony admitted, looking to Cassia. She shook her head. 

“I didn’t either, though it’s rather obvious in hindsight. He was so heartbroken…” she trailed off, and waved a hand. “I suspect he didn’t wish for us to know for a number of reasons.”

Hermione nodded slowly, but before the conversation could proceed any further, three silvery tabby cats were prowling across the table. One addressed each Anthony, Lucius, and Hermione, and then spoke in unison. 

“A seventh year Gryffindor, Ms Lucy Robards, was injured in an altercation with sixth year Slytherin, Mr Douglas Macnair, while protecting two younger students. The student in question has expressed an intent to purify the school of those unworthy to practice magic. Due to the egregious nature of the attack and the student’s history of targeting Muggleborns, I am requesting an emergency meeting for the Board of Governors to immediately dismiss the student from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and press criminal charges.” 

Cassia’s eyes went wide, and Lucius and Anthony shared a grim look. “Does that mean what I think?” Cassia looked to Lucius, and Hermione found his hand, squeezing tightly. 

“It sounds as if he holds on to his father’s ideals, yes.” His voice was tight, and Hermione was suddenly grateful dinner had been interrupted. Had anything been in her stomach, she surely would have lost it. 

The boy was a Death Eater, and he’d just attacked a junior minister’s only daughter. What happened next could change everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! 
> 
> Could this upturn everything Lucius has worked so hard for? 
> 
> Let’s hear your thoughts, loves! 
> 
> Xoxo, 
> 
> Ruby


	37. Admissions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we’re back!

Hermione felt cold, despite the crackling fire and the dozen and a half bodies milling around Minerva’s office. She stood back, watching the proceedings with wary eyes. Minerva, Aurora, Neville, and Axios faced the school governors, who had separated into smaller groups on the other side of Minerva’s massive rosewood desk. Lucius and Anthony stood resolutely in the center with a witch named Rosalie Collins, and unless she was mistaken, they were the three senior most governors, each of them having been elected her last year as a student. The two newest governors, both having been elected within the last year, huddled closest to Minerva’s desk and furthest from the calm, imposing forms in the center of the room. A group of four had inserted themselves between them, while a final group of three hung off to the side, closest to the door. 

Hermione stood alone at the back of the room, waiting for Laurence Greene, the Ministry’s junior minister that oversaw her own Magical Education department. The flames in the grate turned green, but it wasn’t Laurence that stepped through, but Arthur. 

“Sorry for the delay. Laurence is unavailable and asked me to step in,” he said as he brushed soot from his cloak. “Technically Gawain should be the next choice but given the circumstances…” He peered around the room, nodding to several of them before spotting Hermione and making a beeline for her. 

“Now that we’re all assembled…” Minerva sounded more defeated than Hermione had ever heard her, and Hermione didn’t miss Aurora’s red eyes. Neville and Axios flanked the two women, both looking grim. She snuck a glance at Lucius, and had to hold herself back from rushing to his side; his posture was rigid and unforgiving, and she ached to reach out for him. 

Lucius was reminded sharply of the scene in Minerva’s office the day after Rose’s father had barged in and scared the daylights out of two dozen students, down to the expressions that the Longbottom and Fairview boys sported. That day he’d listened carefully to every word that had been said. Today, he was only half listening to the explanations that Minerva and Aurora offered. 

Even with Hermione safely in the room, he felt anxious to not have her within an arm’s reach. He’d been relieved when Arthur Weasley had shown up rather than the bumbling fool Laurence Greene, though. Greene couldn’t duel his way out of a wet paper bag, and Hogwarts or not, he wasn’t willing to take a chance on her safety. Arthur’s presence only just took the edge off though, and Lucius was carefully noting everyone’s positions, just in case. 

“Why hasn’t his behavior been conveyed to us before now?” One of the governors, a witch named Alexandra Gavin looked angrily between each of the educators. 

“We’ve had trouble retaining a healer for any substantial amount of time, and unfortunately instances have gone unreported or undocumented—“ Minerva was cut off by a wizard next to Alexanda. 

“You’ve had a healer for over a year now—“

“Livvy has only officially been the Hogwarts Matron since August, Heath.” Axios crossed his arms, obviously irritated. “And she’s kept impeccable records since she started filling in last year, but she wasn’t always here.”

“If they were so good, why did it take him nearly killing Gawain’s daughter for it to be brought to our attention?” Alexandra was turning a rather unattractive shade of puce, not that she was attractive to begin with, Lucius noted. 

“It didn’t,” Anthony spoke up calmly. “Miss Beaulieu brought it to the attention of myself, Lord Malfoy, and Miss Granger. We were in the process of reviewing the records when this incident occurred.”

Looks of surprise were exchanged by the other governors, though the professors, Hermione, and Arthur remained impassive, showing no trace that they recognized Anthony was stretching the truth slightly. 

“Why would she tell  _ you?”  _ One of the new governors, a witch Lucius thought would be a bigger problem than she’d proven to be so far, looked at him with disgust evident in her dark features. Zala Abebe was someone he didn’t particularly care to debate at the moment; not while there were more important matters at hand. 

“Miss Beaulieu correctly assumed I would take special interest in her findings, Ms Abebe.” Lucius pinned her with a level stare, but she didn’t back down. 

“Special interest in covering it up?” Her lip curled, the whites of her eyes and gleaming teeth nearly glowing in stark contrast against her dark skin. Lucius could feel the tension mounting in the room and he tilted his head slowly, narrowing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry Zala, did I miss where you passed several key pieces of Muggleborn protection legislature between spewing your political opinions in poorly written  _ Witch Weekly _ articles?” Linda Frobisher spoke up from near the door, earning several poorly concealed snickers from various other governors. “Oh wait, the articles were yours… the laws were all Lord Malfoy. Yes, I could see why you’d be confused why Miss Beaulieu would indeed go to the most influential and well intentioned governor in this bloody room.” 

Zala opened her mouth but was cut off by Martin Higgs, an older wizard with thin grey hair and a tired air about him. “Ladies, please. All that matters is that Miss Beaulieu did indeed report her findings through appropriate channels. The next question is are there others?” He looked to Lucius, then to Anthony, before his eyes fell on Hermione. 

“I think Viv would have a better idea. I haven’t had a chance to look at the data and analyze it with full—“

“ _ Expecto Patronum!”  _ A large bear erupted from Axios’ wand, and several of them jumped. He just crossed his arms again, jaw set, as the bear disappeared in the direction of the hospital wing. 

“Uh… yes.” Hermione fell silent, looking guiltily up at the four figures behind the headmistress’s desk. Severus arched an eyebrow, and Lucius glared at the painting. Severus caught the expression and rolled his eyes theatrically, but Lucius turned his attention back to one of the governors who was asking what was to be done with the boy. 

“Technically the boy is a minor, he won’t be of age for another week,” Aurora’s shoulders sagged as she spoke. 

“Minor or not, by his own admission he knew what he was doing,” another governor chimed in. 

“Where is he now?” Rosalie looked around, as if she expected him to appear out of a shadow or hidden door. 

Neville indicated a door on the far side of the room. “After confiscating his wand, we locked and warded him into Minerva’s sitting room. Fairview and I will escort him to the Ministry in due course.” 

Zara and the other new governor, a wizard named Thompson, edged away from the door that they were closest to. 

“As much as I trust your word, and that of your teachers, Minerva, I think the boy deserves to speak for himself, no?” Rosalie waited for Minerva to nod, and jerked her chin towards the door. Neville and Axios approached, Neville opening the door with a flick of his wand while Axios dropped the wards and beckoned for the boy. 

Lucius felt as if he’d stepped back in time and was looking at his old friend and housemate. Douglas Macnair was the spitting image of his father Walden, down to his scowl and the way he shoved his hands into his pockets with his elbows splayed out. 

He couldn’t keep himself from glancing back at Hermione, who was half hidden behind Arthur and had a firm grip on her wand. He resisted the urge to hide her fully, and turned his attention back to the boy. He was scowling at Axios, who had his wand trained steadily on him. His scowl deepened as he took in the small crowd of people, lifting his chin when his gaze reached Lucius.

“My father always said you were spineless,” he spat. “A bastard that could get out of anything greased with enough galleons.” Severus snorted from his place on the wall, and the boy turned his attention to the portrait. “And you’re just a disgrace. A traitorous coward.” 

“And you are nothing but a misguided child,” Severus shot back, earning him a warning glance from Minerva. 

“I’m not a child!” Douglas balled his fists at his side, and lifted his chin higher. “I did it because I wanted to! Not because I had to be threatened,” he glared back at Lucius, “or because I wanted to save some slut.” His contemptuous sneer turned to Severus, and Lucius was relatively certain that had he not been dead and wandless, Severus would have eviscerated him on the spot. 

Several of the governors were shifting uncomfortably now, and Lucius steeled himself, not allowing himself another moment of weakness to look back to Hermione. 

“Son, do you understand what you did?” Martin Higgs sounded even more tired. 

“I’m not your son, old man. And of course I understand! Our blood is being polluted and diluted with  _ mud.  _ I was just trying to  _ clean house _ and get rid of some of it. That Muggle-loving bitch just got in the way. Is she dead yet?” 

“Her name is Lucy, and she’ll be fine.” Lucius hadn’t heard the door open, but Vivienne Beaulieu stood on Anthony’s other side, shoulders squared, eyes burning. 

Douglas snorted. “It’s a shame my brother got your friend instead of you. This castle needs a few fewer Mudblood and traitors, but based on the contents of this room…” He looked to the professors behind him and counted off, “Traitor, traitor, half-blood traitor, traitor…” and then started on the rest of the room. “Mudblood, traitor, spineless bastard worm, half-blood traitor…” He finally caught sight of Hermione, and his lips curved into a cruel smile. 

“And the Mudblood queen herself. Is it true you’re sleeping with the bastard worm? Are you going to die with him or for him?” 

“That is quite enough, Mr Macnair!” Minerva flicked her wand, silencing him. “Have you heard enough, Rosalie, or would you like to continue?”

Rosalie had gone pale, and she jerked her head sharply. 

“Good. Professor Fairview and Longbottom, if you’d be so kind.” Both men glowered at the student, and he returned to the sitting room without a fight, grinning at his perceived ability to ruffle their feathers. 

Once the door was shut and locked once more, Lucius turned to see Hermione looking pale but otherwise no worse for wear. Vivienne, on the other hand, looked as if she was trying not to be ill over Minerva’s rug. Anthony gripped her elbow, saying something quietly to her as Axios hurried back, reaching out for her and wrapping her firmly in his arms. 

Lucius itched to take Hermione into his arms, but told himself she wouldn’t appreciate it, nor would it be a good idea to show weakness in front of their colleagues. While he was warring with himself, the others had begun talking amongst themselves again. 

“I can’t believe it..”

“...should be tossed in Azkaban…”

“...expelled immediately…”

“...poor girl…”

“...must be mad…”

“...in front of her brother…”

“...admitted it and is  _ proud…” _

Lucius cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “Minerva I believe you summoned us to decide whether or not to expel the child. As he is sixteen—“

Zala cut him off again. “You can’t honestly be defending him. Just because you and your son got away with—“

“Shut up, you miserable hag!” Hermione’s voice rang out through the office, and Lucius was positive they could have heard a pin drop on the carpet. Zala gaped at Hermione, who crossed her arms and silently dared the other witch to continue. 

“Go on, Lucius,” Arthur said after several heartbeats of silence. 

“As he is sixteen and nearly of age, not olnly did he admit his actions but he is well aware of what he has done, and as he so clearly expressed, did it of his own free will and volition. Therefore I believe I speak for all of us here in stating that he should be expelled, effective immediately, and the recommendation given to the Wizengamot to be tried as an adult.” He leveled a hard stare at Zala. “Or is that too lenient, Ms Abebe?” 

She glared back, but said nothing. 

“Very well,” Minerva sighed. “All in favor?” 

Twelve hands were raised in unison, and seven other pairs of eyes looked on as Aurora produced a wand Lucius didn’t recognize, and passed it to Anthony. He took it, a shadow of distaste crossing his features. 

“Before we continue, I believe we asked Miss Beaulieu here for a reason, and we don’t need to keep her any longer than necessary.” Martin was eyeing the young witch worriedly, and Lucius realized with a start how unwell the girl looked. Her already pale skin looked almost grey, and her hands were shaking around Axios’ bicep that seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright. 

“What do you need?” Lucius couldn’t help but respect the woman for her tenacity. Her voice was steadier than he would have guessed it would be. 

Once again he glanced back at Hermione, this time to find her already looking. His throat tightened, and tightened his grip on the head of his cane. He lost track of what Vivienne was saying until she was being escorted out by Axios, his mind overtaken by raspberry scented curls and silky soft skin under his fingertips. He had to protect her, by any means necessary. 

“I think some tea is in order until Professor Fairview is back and we can finish with this unpleasant business.” Minerva looked around and several of them nodded. Minerva summoned a house elf, and the groups began to rearrange themselves. Arthur joined Rosalie and Martin with Minerva, while Neville approached a few of the others. Aurora was speaking quietly to Zala when Hermione edged closer, angling herself between Anthony and Lucius. 

“What happens now?” She wrapped her arms around herself, and the two men shared a grim look. 

“They’ll bring him back out, and we’ll tell him our decision. Then I have to snap his wand.” Anthony looked vaguely ill at the prospect, and Hermione instinctively held her own closer. 

Her skin prickled, and she couldn’t resist the urge to reach for Lucius any longer. Slipping her hand through his elbow, she felt some of the tension fade, though he stiffened. She was about to let go when a warming charm washed over her, and she realized that Lucius must’ve felt how cold her hands were through the fabric of his robes. She squeezed his arm lightly in thanks, again grateful for his proficiency in wandless, nonverbal magic, though now her stomach twisted at the thought of why he’d learned. His wand had been snapped, and she had a nagging suspicion that the experience was why he, as the senior most governor, passed the responsibility to Anthony. 

She could feel Zala Abebe’s eyes on them, but she didn’t bother glancing back, knowing full well she wouldn’t hold her tongue, and she was relatively certain Lucius wouldn’t be pleased if she pushed any further. She tightened her grip on his arm and she focused on his face, searching for a flicker of emotion. His eyes were trained over her head, and she was relatively certain that if she turned around, she’d see they were locked with the black gaze of her former potions master. 

She glanced at Anthony, who was staring at the door that hid Douglas Macnair from sight. 

“I hoped I’d never have to do this again,” he muttered to her. 

“Have you had to…” She trailed off, not sure how to ask the question. He just nodded, and Hermione clamped her mouth shut, suddenly regretting her unrelenting curiosity. Averting her eyes, she caught sight of several of the governors watching them with near open curiosity. Instead of dropping her hold, she shuffled marginally closer, determined not to show her discomfort. The last decade had honed her ability to ignore stares, but when Lucius looked around, the curious looks shifted away quickly, 

Lucius’ voice was a low rumble in her ear as he spoke to Anthony, and beyond catching Viv’s name, Hermione didn’t listen closely enough to follow the conversation, instead losing herself in her own thoughts. Tendrils of fear licked up her spine as she considered the boy’s words.  _ Are you going to die with him or for him?  _ Not would you, but are you, as if the decision to kill Lucius had already been made. 

She supposed it had been decided the moment that he’d admitted his guilt and renounced the Death Eaters, but the way he’d looked at them… Was there a plan in place? Was he in imminent danger? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Axios’ return, and the room fell into strained silence as he and Neville shared a dark look, and flanked the door once more. Like before, they worked in tandem and Douglas Macnair stepped back into the room. He glared at anyone his eyes fell to, and Minerva didn’t waste any additional time. 

“Mr Douglas Macnair, due to your use of an unforgivable curse and unprovoked attack on a fellow student, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your wand has already been collected and will be destroyed. You will be taken before the Wizengamot for further trial. Do you understand?” 

The boy had the audacity to laugh in her face, and Hermione’s temper flared once more, but Lucius shifted ever so slightly, surreptitiously wedging her behind his left shoulder. It took everything she had not to glare up at him, but his hand was tightening around the handle of his wand and her mind flashed to the scar that already adorned his left side. She immediately acquiesced, knowing he was more likely to be injured if she fought his protection. 

“I understand, but you’ll regret it,” he gloated gleefully. Glances were exchanged around the room, though no one broke the silence around his maniacal laughter. Minerva nodded once to Anthony, and he withdrew his own wand from his robes. With a flick, the unfamiliar wand was hovered out of his pocket and stopped in front of Macnair, just out of reach. 

“Douglas Macnair, do you claim ownership of this wand?” Anthony’s calm, even tone took control of the situation, and Macnair stopped laughing. He narrowed his eyes at Anthony, but nodded sharply once. 

“Wand wood, core, and dimensions?” 

“Maple, dragon heartstring. 11 and a half inches.” Macnair sounded angry now, and his face was growing red. Aurora nodded from her place behind the desk, and quickly averted her eyes. 

Hermione expected him to say more over the matter, but the next sound was a sickening crack as the wand snapped in two, and fell to the carpet at Macnair’s feet. Hermione jumped, and she was relatively certain that Lucius cringed at the scene as well. Macnair’s face shifted from cherry-red to deathly pale in record time and he stared, dumbfounded, at the ruined wand. 

A nod from Minerva and he was flanked by Axios and Neville, and led through the floo in silence. Arthur collected the pieces of the maple wand, and followed in short order, with scarcely more than a bobbed nod in the general directions of Minerva and Hermione still standing with Lucius and Anthony. 

Hermione felt vaguely ill, and was relieved when Lucius spoke up almost immediately. “If you’ll excuse us, Minerva, we must be on our way. I’ll send an owl with the necessary documents.” He swept them through the floo without any further hesitation, and Hermione barely got a glimpse of Lucius’ familiar study before they were spinning through emerald flames again, and they stepped into the brightly lit drawing room of the château.

The room was empty, and a whimper escaped her lips when Lucius wrapped her tightly in his arms. Tears filled her eyes, and she grasped at his robes, Macnair’s ominous words still echoing through her mind.  _ Are you going to die with him, or for him?  _ She didn’t want to admit it, but she already knew the answer. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this chapter written for a while, but with current events, was unsure of the propriety of posting it... but here we are. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and I hope you’re all safe, well, and HEARD. 
> 
> XOXO, Ruby


	38. Choices

That evening was subdued, and Hermione noted the absence of well,  _ everyone.  _ Whether or not they were purposefully avoiding the study where Lucius and Hermione had closed themselves away, or if they were simply otherwise engaged, she didn’t much care. 

They spent the evening much as they had on many other nights, but Lucius kept a firm hold on Hermione. After a few minutes of his arm locked rather uncomfortably around her waist on the sofa, she stood up and batted his hand away before settling in his lap much as she had on Christmas Eve. His brittle tension melted away as he pressed his cheek against her hair, his fingers playing absentmindedly over the hand that wasn’t holding the book she was trying and failing to get lost in. 

“What are you thinking?” She finally broke their tenuous silence, keeping her eyes on the book, rather than twisting to look him in the eye. He hummed somewhere near her left ear, and she felt his chest swell against her back as he took a deep breath. He let out the lungful of air slowly, his breath tickling the delicate skin beneath her ear. 

“I’m pondering what it would take to keep you here for the foreseeable future,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck despite the wild curls that were surely tickling his nose. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, letting her head drop to his shoulder, allowing him better access. She released the book and dimly registered that it floated over to the table, setting itself down gently. 

“I was thinking years, not days.” He swept her hair away from her exposed neck, quickly pressing his lips to the skin over her carotid artery. 

“As nice as that sounds I have a jo—“ Her breath caught as he eased his fingers under the hem of her blouse, pressing his palms against the skin of her abdomen. His hands were warm and firm, steady and sure. 

“I don’t care. I want you safe.” There was an edge to his voice now, a note of desperation that frightened her and she froze. Lucius’ hands stilled, and she had to remind herself to breathe. 

“Macnair’s choices—“ 

“Darling, please.” He cut her off, sounding weary. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and Hermione pressed her cheek to his temple. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear them and force down the lump in her throat. His hands retreated from her skin, coming to rest on her hips. She reached for his hands, tangling her fingers with his and holding on tightly. 

A knock on the door kept her from trying to dig any further, and she hesitated, not sure if she should move for propriety’s sake or if for their collective sanity, she should stay put. Lucius made the decision for her, not letting her go while he cleared his throat. 

“Yes?” The door clicked open, and Draco appeared, looking deathly pale. He didn’t even blink at Hermione perched in his father’s lap. “Draco? What’s wrong?” Lucius sat up straighter, and Hermione slid from his lap to the sofa beside him, watching wide eyed as Draco sank into the seat across from them, dropping his face into his hands, his breathing shallow and erratic. 

“I’m going to lose them. I can’t…” His next breath shuddered, and Hermione watched in awe as Draco looked up, tears running freely down his face. 

“Rosie’s going to die.” 

***

Several hours later, Lucius lay in bed, his mind too busy to sleep. Hermione was curled against his side, her hand splayed out over his bare chest. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep or not, but her breaths were slow and even. 

Listening to his son’s cries had broken something within him; or maybe it was hearing that Narcissa had known she was going to die because of the sheets of parchment he’d looked at a hundred times over, or perhaps it was hearing that the girls he’d come to see as a pseudo daughters were destined for the same fate. 

Hermione had stayed stoically at his side, listening closely to Draco’s explanation of what she’d unwittingly discovered. It was only when Draco had choked out the truth of his mother’s death that she had left them alone, coming back a short time later with a tea tray. Her quiet strength had been unexpected but not unwelcome. 

When they’d come in to ready for bed, she’d timidly asked if he wanted to be alone, and he couldn’t even manage to find his voice to tell her no, so he ended up shaking his head mutely until her arms had come around him. He wasn’t sure how long they’d stood in silence, but by the time he stepped away, the sharp ache in his chest had receded to a dull throb. 

Now, with her body pressed against his beneath the duvet, he considered the day's events. It had felt as if the day had been one disaster after another, each one progressively worse than the last. 

The Macnair boy had nearly gotten himself cursed by Lucius’ wand, the fear that gripped his heart at Draco’s anguish, and then to hear of Narcissa’s untimely death due to what, a prophesy? A  _ curse,  _ directed at her for  _ his  _ choices… He wanted nothing more than to retreat into the depths of his memories, to supplicate himself to the woman that had made his life worth living, despite the hell he’d subjected her to. 

But Hermione… She had stayed through it all. It was for Draco and for her that he had remained composed, though his poise was failing him now. His chest ached with unshed tears, iron bands of grief restricting his breaths. Hermione shifted, and he tightened his grip on her. 

“Lucius, let go for a moment.” Any other time and he’d probably have protested, but his grief and guilt overwhelmed him, and he released her in defeat. She pulled away in the darkness, and he let her go, though he felt the loss of her acutely. 

And then she shuffled closer again, maneuvering his head into her lap. She carded her fingers through his hair, setting a slow, soothing pace. Lucius couldn’t remember the last time he’d been coddled as such. By his mother, surely, as a small child. Before his father had deemed him too old for such treatment. 

Hermione kept stroking his hair in silence, not sure what to say to ease his suffering. She hesitated even to tell him she loved him, knowing his grieving heart had been ripped open, the wound once again fresh. So she let the silky strands fall through her fingers, brushing it carefully away from his face. 

“My mother used to do this,” he whispered, and her hand stilled. 

“Would you tell me about her?” She wasn’t sure if that wound was any more healed than the loss of his wife, but he had yeta to mention either of his parents in more than passing. What little she knew of his father was less than flattering, but she knew next to nothing of his mother. 

“Her name was Sabine. I didn’t understand until far too late in life that she was far too good for my father. Much like Narcissa was for me. Like you are.” It felt like a knife was twisting in her heart for him, but she let him continue uninterrupted. 

“She was graceful and charming, the picture of a pure blooded lady.” His tone took on a bitter edge, and Hermione resumed stroking his hair. “If you once thought I was cruel, you would have been utterly appalled by my father. He showed no mercy, no affection, no love. He never did approve of Draco’s attachment to me, nor of my attachment to my mother.”

He took a shuddering breath, and Hermione kept her steady rhythm. “She was lovely, though. She had a beautiful voice and it was her that taught me to play the piano. I was so grateful that she was alive to see my union with Narcissa. She passed not a year after we were wed.

“There is a portrait of her, at the manor, if you’d like to meet her,” he murmured quietly. Hermione was caught off guard, her hand stilling in his hair. “She will be cordial. I couldn’t make the same promise of my father, but my mother… I understand if you would prefer not—“

“Would you like me to meet her?” She trailed her hand down the side of his face, over his jaw. She felt him swallow, and he was quiet for a heartbeat. Her mind was filled with images of the late Mrs Black screaming at her for simply existing in her house, and she couldn’t imagine the late Mrs Malfoy being overly thrilled that she was romantically involved with her son, even if she couldn’t “muddy” the bloodline. 

“I would. Very much.” Lucius’ voice was soft, almost questioning. 

“Then I’d love to meet her, Lucius.” Hermione could feel his relief, and she resumed combing his hair with her fingers. She resisted the urge to tell him that she’d do almost anything for him at this point, even if she was unsure of how she got here. Slowly his breathing slowed and deepened, until she was sure he was asleep. She waited a bit longer before lifting his head carefully with her wand, sliding out from beneath him and replacing his pillow. 

Pulling on her dressing gown, she slipped into the hallway. The château was silent and dark, the moon covered by a dark carpet of clouds. She murmured a quiet  _ lumos,  _ and as she passed Draco and Astoria’s room, she bit her lip, wondering if Astoria was comforting Draco, or if Draco had strayed to Rose’s room. 

She slipped into the potions workroom, the light of her wand reflecting off of a single crystal bottle on the workbench. The aquamarine liquid inside the bottle was not the indigo from his notes, but Matthieu had changed it to better suit her injuries. 

She wasted no time, uncorking the bottle and smoothing the thick, viscous potion over her forearm, careful to cover every bit of the letters carved into her skin. It stung, but most things did. She pocketed the bottle, and retreated back the way she came. By the time she burrowed under the down comforter and into Lucius’ side, the sting had abated and she quickly fell asleep. 

***

“Why isn’t there a portrait of Narcissa?” Hermione’s eyes drifted over the plaques that adorned each gilt frame as they made their way down the manor’s hallways the next afternoon. 

“There is. Before her death she expressed her wish for it to be kept from the manor until my own death,” Lucius said quietly. “I believe she thought that if it was hung here, I would never allow myself…” he trailed off, and Hermione squeezed his arm gently. His arm tightened in response, and they continued in silence, until they reached a stretch of hallway just past the door that led to the room Lucius had once shared with Narcissa. 

Lucius came to a stop before an ornate frame, the middle-aged blonde woman inside sleeping peacefully. She was fine boned, with graceful lines and pale blonde hair. Hermione could see the resemblance to Lucius in her nose and mouth, though the woman’s hair was the same silky platinum. 

“Mother, I have someone I’d like you to meet.” Lucius rested his free hand over Hermione’s, looped through his arm. The woman— Sabine Malfoy— blinked awake, and Hermione was surprised to see that her eyes were the deepest blue she’d ever seen. She looked first at Lucius, and then turned her gaze to Hermione. She studied her closely, and Hermione tried not to shift under the scrutiny. “Mother, this is Hermione. Hermione, my mother, Sabine.”

“It’s nice to finally be introduced,” the portrait said with an air of impatience. “I would generally prefer to be introduced before being woken with yelling in our hallways, but given my son’s poor management of the situation leading to that display…” she shot a cool look at Lucius, and turned what Hermione thought just might be an approving look back at her. 

“You’re the muggleborn, are you not?” Hermione’s eyes widened at the blunt delivery. 

“Yes ma’am, I am muggleborn. But I—“

“No buts. Please tell me you haven’t told your father yet,” Sabine turned her attention to Lucius, who sighed. 

“No, I have not, Mother.”

To Hermione’s surprise, Sabine smiled widely. “Very good, darling. I want to be there when you do.” Lucius squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Yes, Mother.” Hermione blinked at the shift in his persona, but Sabine caught her eye. 

“You’re much prettier when you aren’t mimicking a banshee,” she observed, a twinkle somehow captured in the deep blue oil paint. “Though I did enjoy the light show. It’s been far too long since anyone lost their temper in such a charming way in this house.” 

Whatever Hermione had expected of Lucius’ mother, this was decidedly not it. She’d expected… Well to be honest she’d expected the Narcissa she’d known from her school days; cold, aloof, and condescending. 

Her surprise must have shown on her face because the portrait smiled smugly. “Lucius darling, would you excuse us for a moment? I think Miss Granger and I could better speak freely woman to woman.” 

Lucius turned to Hermione, an unasked question hovering between them. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and he squeezed her hand briefly. “Very well. I’ll wait for you in the study.” He kissed Hermione’s forehead before retreating down the hallway, both women watching him go. 

“Lucius was the light of my life,” Sabine said quietly as he disappeared around the corner. “His name was no mistake.” Hermione looked back to the witch, and found her smile fading. “My grandson was here this morning. I gather you were the clever little thing that gave him the missing piece.” 

Hermione had yet to say a word, but she pressed on. “Narcissa warned me that a muggleborn would walk these halls as it’s mistress one day, though I always assumed that it would be the American girl that won my grandson’s heart. I never did expect it of Lucius.” 

Hermione felt a spike of anger, Sabine’s quick tongue igniting the same spark she’d spoken of earlier. 

“I don’t care if you don’t think I’m good enough for him,” she snapped, and Sabine pinned her with a cool stare. It felt rather odd to be trapped in a staring contest with a painting, but it was Sabine that redirected the encounter once again. 

“Do you know why portraits are only completed and hung once the occupant has died, Miss Granger?” 

Hermione stopped, running over her rather limited knowledge of magical portraiture. “Beside the obvious discomfort of speaking to oneself, I have no idea.” 

“Because we still have free range of thought, child. I am an imprint of sorts of Sabine Malfoy, yes. But I have had nearly thirty years to  _ think,  _ and to choose to  _ change.”  _

Hermione’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. She’d assumed they were unchanging. Severus certainly hadn’t changed in the time she’d known his portrait. 

“It is, naturally, a shade more difficult for us to do, but it is possible. It is a choice, after all. Most do choose to remain unchanging. My late husband, for example, I doubt will ever change, and when you have the misfortune of meeting him, I do suggest a muffling charm.” She smiled ruefully. “Lucius and I have had many long, tiresome conversations regarding blood status. I will freely admit I do not accept your kind as readily as he wishes I would, but  _ you _ …” 

Hermione cocked her head. This was not the conversation she’d expected. She’d still hardly said a word, but it didn’t appear as if she needed to. The woman before her continued. 

“It was your ardent show of concern for the well-being of my son that warmed me to the idea of you. But the deciding moment was one that you probably haven’t thought twice about since. You came to this door, once.” She indicated the door to the bedroom that Lucius had shared with Narcissa. “I watched you take the handle, and then you left. Why?” 

Hermione’s cheeks grew hot, but she didn’t give the woman the satisfaction of looking away. “I decided my respect for Lucius’ privacy was more important than my own curiosity.” 

“Choices are curious things, are they not?” Sabine tapped the arm of her chair with a perfectly manicured finger. “You see it was that relatively simple choice, to open an unlocked door or to leave it be, that led me to a choice of my own.” 

Hermione was completely lost now, but the woman before her didn’t elaborate any further. Instead she sat back in her chair, like a queen before her court. She was classically pretty, and when she smiled Hermione could see even more of Lucius in her, and even Draco. 

“Now tell me, child. Did you really resort to a bout of fisticuffs with my darling Draco?” 

***

It was some time later when Hermione rejoined Lucius in his study. He had been playing the piano for some time, Hermione and Sabine listening from their places down the hall. Despite Sabine’s clear aversion to Hermione’s blood status, Hermione found her to be an intriguing conversationalist. 

“Did she behave herself?” Lucius’ fingers continued to coax music from the keys, and Hermione slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his crown. 

“You’re a lot like her,” she said quietly, smoothing her hands over his chest. She felt the silk of his hair brush against her cheek as he looked up, though her eyes remained on an unseen, faraway point. Sabine had hinted that Narcissa had told her more of the prophecy she had unearthed with Draco. Their conversation had raised more questions than she had answers, and she didn’t know if she cared for what was to come.

Sabine’s parting words still echoed through her head. 

“When the time comes, the choice is yours, child. Make it count.”

She would, but Hermione wasn’t yet sure  _ how.  _


End file.
